WAGER   OF  BATTLE; 


TALE  OF  SAXON  SLAYER! 


SHERWOOD    FOEEST. 


BY  HENRY   W.   HERBERT, 

IUTHOK  or  "HENRY  VIH  AND  HIS  six  -WIVES,"  "THE  CAPTAINS  OF  THE  GREEK  AND 

ROMAN  REPUBLICS,"  "  THE  ROMAN  TRAITOR,"  "  MAKMADCKE  WTVIL," 
"OLIVER  CROMWELL,"   ETC.    ETC.    ETC. 


NEW    YOKK: 
PUBLISHED   BY   MASON    BROTHERS, 

23    PARK    ROW. 
1855. 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1855,  by 

MASON    BROTHERS, 
In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  for  the  Southern  District  of  New  York. 


STEREOTYPED    BY  PRINTED  BY 

THOMAS   B.  SMITH,  JOH"   A"    GKAY' 

82  A  84  Beckmnu  St.  79  Cliff  St. 


FS  iW 


TO 

ISRAEL  DE  WOLF  ANDREWS,  ESQ., 

OF  EASTPOKT,  MAINE, 

THIS    HISTORICAL    ROMANCE, 

"<U»pr  0f  §&tih," 

Descriptive  of  the  manners,  customs  and  institutions  of  our  mutual 
ancestry,  Saxon  and  Norman,  at  the  period  of  their  fusion  into  the 
great  race,  speaking  the  English  tongue,  by  whatever  name,  in  distant 
and  widely  severed  isles  and  continents,  it  is  destined  to  be  known, 
and  illustrative  of  the  nature  of  Saxon  serfdom  in  the  twelfth  century 
of  our  era,  is  dedicated,  as  a  slight  token  of  great  esteem,  of  gratitude 
for  many  good  offices,  and  of  friendship,  which,  he  hopes  and  wishes, 
will  stand  all  tests  of  time  and  change,  unaltered, 
By  his  sincere  friend  and  servant, 

HENRY  WM.  HERBERT. 

THE  CEDABS,  July  20, 1855. 


PREFACE. 


IT  is,  perhaps,  unfortunate  that  the  period  and,  in  some  degree, 
the  scene  of  my  present  work,  coincide  nearly  with  those  of 
the  most  magnificent  and  gorgeous  of  historical  romances,  Sir 
Walter  Scott's  Ivanhoe. 

It  is  hoped,  however,  that — notwithstanding  this  similarity, 
and  the  fact  that  in  both  works  the  interest  turns  in  some  degree 
on  the  contrast  between  the  manners  of  the  Saxon  and  Norman 
inhabitants  of  the  isle,  and  the  state  of  things  preceding  the  fu 
sion  of  the  two  races  into  one — notwithstanding,  also,  that  in 
each  a  portion  of  the  effect  depends  on  the  introduction  of  a  ju 
dicial  combat,  or  "Wager  of  Battle"— the  resemblance  will  be 
found  to  be  external  and  incidental  only,  and  that,  neither  in 
matter,  manner,  nor  subject,  is  there  any  real  similarity  between 
the  books,  much  less  any  imitation  or  absurd  attempt,  on  my 
part,  at  rivalry  with  that  which  is  admitted  to  be  incomparable. 
It  will  be  seen,  at  once,  by  those  who  have  the  patience  to  pe 
ruse  the  following  pages,  that  I  have  aimed  at  something  more 
than  a  mere  delineation  of  outward  habits,  customs,  and  details 
of  martial  or  pacific  life  ;  that  I  have  entered  largely  into  the 
condition  of  classes,  the  peculiar  institution  of  Serfdom,  or 
White  Slavery,  as  it  existed  among  our  own  ancestors — that 
portion  of  whom,  from  which  our  blood  is  in  the  largest  degree 
descended,  being  the  servile  population  of  the  island — in  tho 
twelfth  century,  and  the  steps  which  led  to  its  gradual  abolition. 

In  doing  this,  I  have  been  unavoidably  led  into  the  necessity 
of  dealing  with  the  ancient  jurisprudence  of  our  race,  the  com 
mon  law  of  the  land,  the  institution  of  Trial  by  Jury,  and  that 
singular  feature  in  our  old  judicial  system,  the  reference  of  cases 


VI  PREFACE. 

to  the  direct  decision  of  the  Almighty  by  Wager  of  Battle,  or, 
as  it  was  also  called,  "  the  Judgment  of  God." 

I  will  here  merely  observe  that,  while  the  gist  of  my  tale 
lies  in  the  adventures  and  escape  of  a  fugitive  Saxon  Slave 
from  the  tyranny  of  his  Norman  Lord,  my  work  contains  no 
reference  to  the  peculiar  institution  of  any  portion  of  this  coun 
try,  nor  conceals  any  oblique  insinuation  against,  or  covert  at 
tack  upon,  any  part  of  the  inhabitants  of  the  Continent,  or  any 
interest  guaranteed  to  them  by  the  Constitution.  Nevertheless, 
I  would  recommend  no  person  to  open  a  page  of  this  volume, 
who  is  prepared  to  deny  that  slavery  per  se  is  an  evil  and  a 
wrong,  and  its  effects  deteriorating  to  all  who  are  influenced  by 
its  contact,  governors  alike  and  governed,  since  they  will  find 
nothing  agreeable,  but  much  adverse  to  their  way  of  thinking. 

That  it  is  an  evil  and  a  wrong,  in  itself,  and  a  source  of  serious 
detriment  to  all  parties  concerned,  I  can  not  but  believe ;  and 
that,  like  all  other  wrongs  and  evils,  it  will  in  the  end,  by  God's 
wisdom,  be  provided  for  and  pass  away,  without  violence  or 
greater  indirect  wrong  and  evil,  I  both  believe  and  hope. 

But  I  neither  arrogate  to  myself  the  wisdom  of  imagining  how 
this  is  to  be  peacefully  brought  about  in  the  lapse  of  ages,  nor 
hesitate  to  dissent  from  the  intemperance  of  those  who  would 
cut  the  Gordian  knot,  like  Alexander,  with  the  sword,  reckless 
if  the  same  blow  should  sever  the  sacred  bonds  that  consoli 
date  the  fabric  of  the  Union. 

HENRY  WM.  HERBERT. 

THE  CEDARS,  September,  1st.,  1855. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE  FOREST 


CHAPTER  H. 
THE  GOOD  SERVICE 21 


CHAPTER  IH. 
THE  GUERDON  OF  GOOD  SERVICE 39 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE  NORMAN  LORDS 


CHAPTER  V. 
THE  SERF'S  QUARTER 58 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE  SAXON'S  CONSTANCY 69 


Vlll  .  CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

PAGE 

THE  SLAVE-GIRL'S  SELF-DEVOTION 81 


CHAPTER  VHI. 
GUENDOLEN'S  BOWER 91 


CHAPTER  IX. 

GWENDOLEN .    100 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE  LADY  AND  THE  SLAVE.  . .  .110 


CHAPTER  XI. 
THE  LADY'S  GAME .126 


CHAPTER  XII. 
THE  DEPARTURE .  136 


CHAPTER  XI1L 

THE  PROGRESS.  .  .  148 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

THE  NEW  HOME.  .  .  159 


CONTENTS.  IX 


CHAPTER  XV. 

PAGE 

THE  OLD  HOME 166 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

THE  ESCAPE 


CHAPTER  XVH. 

THE  PURSUIT 


CHAPTER  XVHI. 
THE  SANDS 198 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

THE  SUPPLIANT 


CHAPTER  XX. 
THE  LADY  AND  HER  LOVER  - 230 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

THE  ARREST 


CHAPTER  XXII. 
TUE  SHERIFF..  26° 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

PAGE 

THE  TRIAL 272 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 
THE  ACQUITTAL .  285 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

THE  FALSE  CHARGE  AND  THE  TRUE.  .  .  300 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 
WAGER  OP  BATTLE .......  .310 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 
THE  BRIDAL  DAY .  324 


SHERWOOD   FOREST; 

OK, 

WAGBE    OF    BATTLE. 


CHAPTER   I. 

THE    FOREST. 

"  He  rode  half  a  mile  the  way ; 
He  saw  no  light  that  came  of  day; 
Then  came  he  to  a  river  broad, 
Never  man  over  such  one  rode; 
Within  he  saw  a  place  of  green, 
Such  one  had  he  never  erst  seen." 

EABLY  METRICAL  ROMATJNTS.    GUY  OF  WABWIOK. 

IN  the  latter  part  of  the  twelfth  century — when,  in  the  reign 
v£  Henry  II.,  fourth  successor  of  the  Conqueror,  and  grandson 
of  the  first  prince  of  that  name,  known  as  Beauclerc,  the 
condition  of  the  vanquished  Saxons  had  begun  in  some  sort  to 
amend,  though  no  fusion  of  the  races  had  as  yet  commenced, 
and  tranquillity  was  partially  restored  to  England — the  greater 
part  of  the  northern  counties,  from  the  Trent  to  the  mouths 
of  Tyne  and  Solway,  was  little  better  than  an  unbroken  chase 
or  forest,  with  the  exception  of  the  fiefs  of  a  few  great  barons, 
or  the  territories  of  a  few  cities  and  free  borough  towns  ;  and 
thence,  northward  to  the  Scottish  frontier,  all  was  a  rude  and 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

PAGE 

THE  TRIAL .  272 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 
THE  ACQUITTAL .  285 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

THE  FALSE  CHARGE  AND  THE  TRUE .  300 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

WAGER  OP  BATTLE .  310 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 
THE  BRIDAL  DAY .  324 


SHERWOOD   FOREST; 

OK, 

WAGER     OF     BATTLE. 


CHAPTER    I. 

THE    FOREST. 

"  He  rode  half  a  mile  the  way ; 
He  saw  no  light  that  came  of  day; 
Then  came  he  to  a  river  broad, 
Never  man  over  such  one  rode; 
"Within  he  saw  a  place  of  green, 
Such  one  had  he  never  erst  seen." 

EABLY  METRICAL  ROMATJHTS.    GUY  OF  WARWICK. 

IN  the  latter  part  of  the  twelfth  century — when,  in  the  reign 
vi  Henry  II.,  fourth  successor  of  the  Conqueror,  and  grandson 
of  the  first  prince  of  that  name,  known  as  Beauclerc,  the 
condition  of  the  vanquished  Saxons  had  begun  in  some  sort  to 
amend,  though  no  fusion  of  the  races  had  as  yet  commenced, 
and  tranquillity  was  partially  restored  to  England — the  greater 
part  of  the  northern  counties,  from  the  Trent  to  the  mouths 
of  Tyne  and  Solway,  was  little  better  than  an  unbroken  chase 
or  forest,  with  the  exception  of  the  fiefs  of  a  few  great  barons, 
or  the  territories  of  a  few  cities  and  free  borough  towns  ;  and 
thence,  northward  to  the  Scottish  frontier,  all  was  a  rude  and 


12  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

pathless  desert  of  morasses,  moors,  and  mountains,  untrodden 
save  by  the  foot  of  the  persecuted  Saxon  outlaw. 

In  the  West  and  North  Ridings  of  the  great  and  important 
Shire  of  York,  there  were,  it  is  true,  already  a  few  towns  of 
more  than  growing  importance ;  several  of  which  had  been 
originally  the  sites,  or  had  grown  up  in  the  vicinity  and  under 
the  shelter  of  Roman  Stative  encampments;  whereof  not  a 
few  of  them  have  retained  the  evidence  in  their  common  ter 
mination,  caster,  while  others  yet  retain  the  more  modern 
Saxon  appellations.  Of  these  two  classes,  Doncaster,  Ponte- 
fract,  Rotherham,  Sheffield,  Ripon,  may  be  taken  as  examples, 
which  were  even  then  flourishing,  and,  for  the  times,  even 
opulent  manufacturing  boroughs,  while  the  vastly  larger  and 
more  wealthy  commercial  places,  which  have  since  sprung  up, 
mushroom-like,  around  them,  had  then  neither  hearths  nor 
homes,  names  nor  existence. 

In  addition  to  these,  many  great  lords  and  powerful  barons 
already  possessed  vast  demesnes  and  manors,  and  had  erected 
almost  royal  fortalices,  the  venerable  ruins  of  which  still  bear 
evidence  to  the  power  and  the  martial  spirit  of  the  Norman 
lords  of  England ;  and  even  more  majestic  and  more  richly 
endowed  institutions  of  the  church,  such  as  Fountains,  Jor- 
vaulx,  and  Bolton  Abbayes,  still  the  wonder  and  reproach  of 
modern  architecture,  and  the  admiration  of  modern  artists, 
had  created  around  themselves  garden-like  oases  among  the 
green  glades  and  grassy  aisles  of  the  immemorial  British  for 
ests  ;  while,  emulating  the  example  of  their  feudal  or  clerical 
superiors,  many  a  military  tenant,  many  a  gray-frocked  friar,  had 
reared  his  tower  of  strength,  or  built  his  lonely  cell,  upon  some 
moat-surrounded  mount,  or  in  some  bosky  dingle  of  the  wood. 


THE     FOREST.  13 

In  the  East  Biding,  all  to  the  north  of  the  ancient  city  of 
the  Shire,  even  then  famous  for  its  minster  and  its  castle, 
even  then  the  see  and  palace  of  the  second  archbishop  of  the 
realm,  was  wilder  yet,  ruder  and  more  uncivilized.  Even  to 
this  day,  it  is,  comparatively  speaking,  a  bleak  and  barren  re 
gion,  overswept  by  the  cold  gusts  from  the  German  ocean, 
abounding  more  in  dark  and  stormy  wolds  than  in  the 
cheerful  green  of  copse  or  wildwood,  rejoicing  little  in  pasture, 
less  in  tillage,  and  boasting  of  nothing  superior  to  the  dull 
market  towns  of  the  interior,  and  the  small  fishing  villages 
nested  among  the  crags  of  its  iron  coast. 

Most  pitilessly  had  this  district  been  ravaged  by  the  Con 
queror  and  his  immediate  successor,  after  its  first  desperate 
and  protracted  resistance  to  the  arms  of  the  Norman ;  after 
the  Saxon  hope  of  England  fell,  to  arise  no  more,  upon  the 
bloody  field  of  Hastings;  and  after  each  one  of  the  fierce 
Northern  risings. 

The  people  were  of  the  hard,  old,  stubborn,  Danish  stock, 
more  pertinacious,  even,  and  more  stubborn,  than  the  enduring 
Saxon,  but  with  a  dash  of  a  hotter  and  more  daring  spirit  than 
belonged  to  their  slower  and  more  sluggish  brethren. 

These  men  would  not  yield,  could  not  be  subdued  by  the 
iron-sheathed  cavalry  of  the  intrusive  kings.  They  were  de 
stroyed  by  them,  the  lands  were  swept  bare,*  the  buildings 
burned,  the  churches  desecrated.  Manors,  which  under  the 
native  rule  of  the  Confessor  had  easily  yielded  sixty  shillings 
of  annual  rent,  without  distress  to  their  occupants,  scarcely 
paid  five  to  their  foreign  lords;  and  estates,  which  under  the 

*  Omnia  sunt  wasta.  Modo  omnino  wasta.  Ex  maxima  parte 
wasta.— Doomsday  Boole,  vol.  i.  fol.  309. 


14  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

ancient  rule  opulently  furnished  forth  a  living  to  two*  English 
gentlemen  of  rank  with  befitting  households,  now  barely  sup 
ported  two  miserable  Saxon  cultivators,  slaves  of  the  soil,  pay 
ing  their  foreign  lords,  with  the  blood  of  their  hands  and  the 
sweat  of  their  brows,  scarcely  the  twelfth  part  of  the  revenue 
drawn  from  them  by  the  old  proprietors. 

When,  in  a  subsequent  insurrection,  the  Norman  king  again 
marched  northward,  in  full  resolve  to  carry  his  conquering 
arms  to  the  frontiers  of  Scotland,  and,  sustained  by  his  fero 
cious  energy,  did  actually  force  his  way  through  the  misty 
moorlands  and  mountainous  mid-regions  of  Durham,  North 
umberland,  and  Westmoreland,  he  had  to  traverse  about  sixty 
miles  of  country,  once  not  the  least  fertile  of  his  newly-con 
quered  realm,  in  which  his  mail-clad  men-at-arms  saw  neither 
green  leaves  on  the  trees,  nor  green  crops  in  the  field  ;  for  the 
ax  and  the  torch  had  done  their  work,  not  negligently ;  passed 
neither  standing  roof  nor  burning  hearth  ;  encountered  neither 
human  being  nor  cattle  of  the  field ;  only  the  wolves,  which 
had  become  so  numerous  from  desuetude  to  the  sight  of  man, 
that  they  scarce  cared  to  fly  before  the  clash  and  clang  of  the 
marching  squadrons. 

To  the  northward  and  north-westward,  yet,  of  Yorkshire, 
including  what  are  now  Lancashire,  Westmoreland,  North 
umberland,  and  Cumberland,  though  the  Conqueror,  in  his 
first  irresistible  prosecution  of  red-handed  victory,  had  marched 
and  countermarched  across  them,  there  was,  even  at  the  time 
of  my  narrative,  when  nearly  a  century  had  fled,  little  if  any 
thing  of  permanent  progress  or  civilization,  beyond  the  estab- 

*  Duo  Taini  tenueri.  ibi  sunt  ii  villani  cum  I  carruca.  valuit  xl  solidoa. 
Diodo  ilii  sol. — Ibid.  vol.  i.  fol.  845. 


THE     FOREST.  15 

lishment  of  a  few  feudal  holds  and  border  fortresses,  each  with 
its  petty  hamlet  clustered  beneath  its  shelter.  The  marches, 
indeed,  of  Lancashire,  toward  its  southern  extremity,  were  in 
some  degree  permanently  settled  by  military  colonists,  in  not 
a  few  instances  composed  of  Flemings,  as  were  the  Welch 
frontiers  of  the  neighboring  province  of  Cheshire,  planted 
there  to  check  the  inroads  of  the  still  unconquered  Cymri,  to 
the  protection  of  whose  mountains,  and  late-preserved  inde 
pendence,  their  whilom  enemies,  the  now  persecuted  Saxons, 
had  fled  in  their  extremity. 

It  is  from  these  industrious  artisans,  then  the  scorn  of  the 
high-born  men-at-arms,  that  the  trade  had  its  origin,  which 
has  filled  the  bleak  moors,  and  every  torrent  gorge  of  Lancas 
ter  and  Western  York,  with  a  teeming  population  and  a  manu 
facturing  opulence,  such  as,  elsewhere,  the  wide  earth  has  not 
witnessed.  Even  at  the  time  of  which  I  write,  the  clack  of 
their  fulling-mills,  the  click  of  their  looms,  and  the  din  of 
their  trip-hammers,  resounded  by  the  side  of  many  a  lonely 
Cheshire  stream ;  but  all  to  the  north  and  westward,  where 
the  wildest  hillsides  and  most  forbidding  glens  are  now  more 
populous  and  richer  than  the  greatest  cities  of  those  days,  all 
was  desolate  as  the  aspect  of  the  scenery,  and  inhospitable  as 
the  climate  that  lowers  over  it  in  constant  mist  and  darkness. 

Only  in  the  south-western  corner  of  Westmoreland,  the 
lovely  land  of  lakes  and  mountains  and  green  pastoral  glens, 
beyond  Morecambe  Bay  and  the  treacherous  sands  of  Lancas 
ter,  had  the  Norman  nobles,  as  the  entering  tide  swept  up 
ward  through  the  romantic  glens  and  ghylls  of  Netherdale 
and  Wharfedale,  past  the  dim  peaks  of  Pennigant  and  Ingle- 
borough,  established  their  lines  in  those  pleasant  places,  and 


16  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

reared  their  castellated  towers,  and  laid  out  their  noble  chases, 
where  they  had  little  interruption  to  apprehend  from  the  ty 
rannic  forest  laws  of  the  Norman  kings,  which,  wherever  their 
authority  extended,  bore  not  more  harshly  on  the  Saxon  serf 
than  on  the  Norman  noble. 

To  return,  however,  toward  the  midland  counties,  and  the 
rich  regions  with  which  this  brief  survey  of  Northern  Eng 
land  in  the  early  years  of  the  twelfth  century  commenced — a 
vast  tract  of  country,  including  much  of  the  northern  por 
tions  of  Nottingham  and  Derbyshire,  and  all  the  south  of  the 
West  Riding  of  York,  between  the  rivers  Trent  and  Eyre,  was 
occupied  almost  exclusively  by  that  most  beautiful  and  famous 
of  all  British  forests,  the  immemorial  and  time-honored  Sher- 
Wood — theme  of  the  oldest  and  most  popular  of  English 
ballads — scene  of  the  most  stirring  of  the  old  Romaunts — 
scene  of  the  most  magnificent  of  modern  novels,  incomparable 
Ivanhoe — home  of  that  half  historic  personage,  King  of  the 
Saxon  greenwoods,  Robin  Hood,  with  all  his  northern  merry- 
men,  Scathelock,  and  Friar  Tuck,  and  Little  John,  Allen-a-Dale, 
wild  forest  minstrel,  and  the  blythe  woodland  queen,  Maid 
Marion — last  leafy  fortalice,  wherein,  throughout  all  England 
proper,  lingered  the  sole  remains  of  Saxon  hardihood  and  in 
dependence — red  battle-field  of  the  unsparing  conflicts  of  the 
rival  Roses. 

There  stand  they  still,  those  proud,  majestic  kings  of  by 
gone  ages ;  there  stand  they  still,  the 

"  Hallowed  oaks, 

Who,  British-born,  tho  last  of  British  race, 
Hold  their  primeval  rights  by  nature's  charter, 
Not  at  tho  nod  of  Cccsar;" 


THE     FOREST.  17 

there  stand  they  still,  erect,  earth-fast,  and  massive,  grasping 
the  green-sward  with  their  gnarled  and  knotty  roots,  waving 
"  their  free  heads  in  the  liberal  air,"  full  of  dark,  leafy  um 
brage  clothing  their  lower  limbs;  but  far  aloft,  towering  with 
bare,  stag-horned,  and  splintered  branches  toward  the  un 
changed  sky  from  which  so  many  centuries  of  sunshine  have 
smiled  down,  of  tempest  frowned  upon  their  "  secular  life  of 


ages" 


There  stand  they,  still,  I  say ;  alone,  or  scattered  here  and 
there,  or  in  dark,  stately  groups,  adorning  many  a  noble  park 
of  modern  days,  or  looming  up  in  solemn  melancholy  upon 
some  "  one-tree  hill,"  throughout  the  fertile  region  which  lies 
along  the  line  of  that  great  ancient  road,  known  in  the  Saxon 
days  as  Ermine-street,  but  now,  in  common  parlance,  called 
"the  Dukeries,"  from  seven  contiguous  domains,  through 
which  it  sweeps,  of  England's  long-lined  nobles. 

Not  now,  as  then,  embracing  in  its  green  bosom  sparse 
tracts  of  cultivated  lands,  with  a  few  borough-towns,  and  a 
few  feudal  keeps,  or  hierarchal  abbayes,  but  itself  severed  into 
divers  and  far-distant  parcels,  embosomed  in  broad  stretches 
of  the  deepest  meadows,  the  most  teeming  pastures,  or  girded 
on  its  swelling,  insulated  knolls  by  the  most  fertile  corn-lands, 
survives  the  ancient  Sherwood. 

Watered  by  the  noblest  and  most  beautiful  of  northern 
rivers,  the  calm  and  meadowy  Trent,  the  sweet  sylvan  Idle, 
the  angler's  favorite,  fairy-haunted  Dee,  the  silver  Eyre, 
mountainous  Wharfe,  and  pastoral  Ure  and  Swale ;  if  I  were 
called  upon  to  name  the  very  garden-gem  of  England,  I  know 
none  that  compares  with  this  seat  of  the  old-time  Saxon  forest. 

You  can  not  now  travel  a  mile  through  that  midland  region 


18  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

of  plenty  and  prosperity  without  hearing  the  merry  chime  of 
village  bells  from  many  a  country  spire,  without  passing  the 
happy  doors  of  hundreds  of  low  cottage  homes,  hundreds  of 
pleasant  hamlets  courting  the  mellow  sunshine  from  some 
laughing  knoll,  or  nestling  in  the  shrubberies  of  some  orchard- 
mantled  hollow. 

Nor  are  large,  prosperous,  and  thriving  towns,  rich  marts 
of  agricultural  produce,  or  manufactures  of  wealth  richer  than 
gold  of  El  Dorado,  so  far  apart  but  that  a  good  pedestrian  may 
travel  through  the  streets  of  a  half  a  dozen  in  a  day's  journey, 
and  yet  stand  twenty  times  agaze  between  their  busy  precincts 
in  admiration — to  borrow  the  words  of  the  great  northern 
Romancer,  with  the  scene  and  period  of  whose  most  splendid 
effort  my  humble  tale  unfortunately  coincides — in  admiration 
of  the  "hundreds  of  broad-headed,  short-stemmed,  wide- 
branched  oaks,  which  had  witnessed,  perhaps,  the  stately 
march  of  the  Roman  soldiers." 

And  here,  let  none  imagine  these  to  be  mere  exaggerations, 
sprung  from  the  overflowing  brain  of  the  Romancer,  for,  not 
fifty  miles  distant  from  the  scene  described  above,  there  is  yet 
to  be  seen  a  venerable  patriarch  of  Sherwood,  which  boasted 
still,  within  a  few  short  years,  some  garlands  of  surviving 
green — the  oak  of  Cowthorpe — -probably  the  largest  in  the 
island;  which  is  to  this  day  the  boundary  corner  of  two 
marching  properties,  and  has  been  such  since  it  was  constitut 
ed  so  in  Doomsday  Book,  wherein  it  was  styled  quercum  in- 
gentem,  the  gigantic  oak. 

Since  the  writing  of  those  words  eight  centuries  have 
passed,  and  there  are  many  reasons  for  believing  that  those 
centuries  have  added  not  an  inch  to  its  circumference,  but 


THE     FOREST.  19 

rather  detracted  from  its  vigor  and  its  growth ;  and,  to  me,  it 
seems  far  more  probable  that  it  was  a  full-grown  tree,  with  all 
its  leafy  honors  rife  upon  it,  when  the  first  Cassar  plunged, 
waist-deep,  into  the  surges  of  the  British  Channel  from  the 
first  Roman  prow,  than  that  it  should  have  sprung  up,  like  the 
gourd  of  a  Jonah,  in  a  single  night,  to  endure  a  thousand 
years'  decay  without  entirely  perishing. 

In  those  days,  however,  a  man  might  ride  from  "  eve  to 
morn,  from  morn  to  dewy  eve,"  and  hear  no  sound  more  hu 
man  than  the  deep  "  belling"  of  the  red  deer,  if  it  chanced  to 
be  in  the  balmy  month  of  June ;  the  angry  grunt  of  the  tusky 
boar,  startled  from  his  mud-bath  in  some  black  morass ;  or,  it 
may  be,  the  tremendous  rush  of  the  snow-white,  black-maned 
bull,  crashing  his  way  through  shivered  saplings  and  rent 
under-brush,  mixed  with  the  hoarse  cooings  of  the  cushat 
dove,  the  rich  song-gushes  of  the  merle  and  mavis,  or  the 
laughing  scream  of  the  green  woodpecker. 

Happy,  if  in  riding  all  day  in  the  green  leafy  twilight, 
which  never,  at  high  noon,  admitted  one  clear  ray  of  daylight, 
and,  long  before  the  sun  was  down,  degenerated  into  murky 
gloom,  he  saw  no  sights  more  fearful  than  the  rabbits  glancing 
across  the  path,  and  disappearing  in  the  thickets ;  or  the  slim 
doe,  daintily  picking  her  way  among  the  heather,  with  her 
speckled  fawns  frolicking  around  her.  Thrice  happy,  if,  as 
night  was  falling,  cold  and  gray,  the  tinkling  of  some  lonely 
chapel  bell  might  give  him  note  where  some  true  anchorite 
would  share  his  bed  of  fern,  and  meal  of  pulse  and  water,  or 
jolly  clerk  of  Copmanhurst  would  broach  the  pipe  of  Mal- 
voisie,  bring  pasties  of  the  doe,  to  greet  the  belated  wayfarer. 

Such  was  the  period,  such  the  region,  when,  on  a  glorious 


20  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

July  morning,  so  early  that  the  sun  had  not  yet  risen  high 
enough  to  throw  one  sweeping  yellow  ray  over  the  carpet  of 
thick  greensward  between  the  long  aisles  of  the  forest,  or 
checker  it  with  one  cool  shadow — while  the  dew  still  hung  in 
diamonds  on  every  blade  of  grass,  on  every  leaf  of  bush  or 
brackens ;  while  the  light  blue  mists  were  still  rising,  thinner 
and  *  thinner  as  they  soared  into  the  clear  air,  from  many  a 
woodland  pool  or  sleepy  streamlet  —  two  men,  of  the 
ancient  Saxon  race,  sat  watching,  as  if  with  some  eager  expect 
ation,  on  a  low,  rounded,  grassy  slope,  the  outpost,  as  it 
seemed,  of  a  chain  of  gentle  hills,  running  down  eastward  to 
the  beautiful  brimfull  Idle. 

Around  the  knoll  on  which  they  sat,  covered  by  the  short 
mossy  turf,  and  over-canopied  by  a  dozen  oaks,  such  as  they 
have  been  described,  most  of  them  leafy  and  in  their  prime, 
but  two  or  three  showing  above  their  foliage  the  gray  stag- 
horns  of  age,  the  river,  clear  as  glass,  and  bright  as  silver, 
swept  in  a  semicircle,  fringed  with  a  belt  of  deep  green  rushes 
and  broad-leaved  water-lilies,  among  which  two  or  three  noble 
swans — so  quietly  sat  the  watchers  on  the  hill — were  leading 
forth  their  little  dark-gray  black-legged  cygnets,  to  feed  on  the 
aquatic  flies  and  insects,  which  dimpled  the  tranquil  river  like 
a  falling  shower.  Across  the  stream  was  thrown  a  two-arched 
freestone  bridge,  high-backed  and  narrow,  and  half  covered 
with  dense  ivy,  the  work,  evidently,  of  the  Roman  conquerors 
of  the  island,  from  which  a  yellow,  sandy  road  wound  de 
viously  upward,  skirting  the  foot  of  the  rounded  hill,  and 
showing  itself  in  two  or  three  ascending  curves,  at  long  inter 
vals,  above  the  tree-tops,  till  it  was  lost  in  the  distant  forest ; 
while,  far  away  to  the  eastward,  the  topmost  turret  of  what 


THE     FOREST.  21 

seemed  a  tall  Norman  keep,  with  a  square  banner  drooping 
from  its  stan°  in  the  breezeless  air,  towering  above  the  dim- 
wood  distance,  indicated  whither  it  led  so  indirectly. 

In  the  rear  of  the  slope  or  knoll,  so  often  mentioned,  was  a 
deep  tangled  dell,  or  dingle,  filled  with  a  thickset  growth  of 
holly,  birch,  and  alder,  with  here  a  feathery  juniper,  and  there 
a  graceful  fern  bush ;  and  behind  this  arose  a  higher  ridge, 
clothed  with  tall,  thrifty  oaks  and  beeches,  of  the  second 
growth,  and  cutting  off  in  that  direction  all  view  beyond  its 
own  near  horizon. 

It  was  not  in  this  direction,  however,  nor  up  the  road 
toward  the  remote  castle,  nor  down  across  the  bridge  over  the 
silver  Idle,  that  the  watchers  turned  their  eager  eyes,  expect 
ing  the  more  eagerly,  as,  at  times,  the  distant  woods  before 
them — lying  beyond  a  long  stretch  of  native  savanna,  made 
probably  by  the  beaver,  while  that  industrious  animal  yet  fig 
ured  in  the  British  fauna — seemed  to  mourn  and  labor  with  a 
deep,  indefinite  murmuring  sound,  half  musical,  half  solemn, 
but  liker  to  an  echo  than  to  any  known  utterance  of  any  liv 
ing  human  being.  It  was  too  varied  for  the  noise  of  falling 
waters,  too  modulated  for  the  wind  harp  of  the  west,  which 
was  sighing  fitfully  among  the  branches.  Eagerly  they 
watched,  with  a  wild  look  of  almost  painful  expectation  in 
their  keen,  light-blue  eyes,  resembling  in  no  respect  the  lively 
glance  with  which  the  jovial  hunter  awaits  his  gallant  quarry ; 
there  was  something  that  spoke  of  apprehension  in  the  hag 
gard  eye — perhaps  the  fear  of  ill-performing  an  unwilling 
duty. 

And  if  it  were  so,  it  was  not  unnatural ;  not  at  that  day, 
alas !  uncommon ;  for  dress,  air,  aspect,  and  demeanor,  all  told 


22  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

them  at  first  sight,  to  Be  of  that  most  wretched,  if  not  most 
abject  class,  the  Saxon  serfs  of  England.  They  were  both 
clad  alike,  in  short,  close-cut  frocks,  or  tunics,  of  tanned 
leather,  gathered  about  their  waists  with  broad  buff  belts,  fast 
ened  with  brazen  buckles,  in  each  of  which  stuck  a  long 
buckhorn-hafted  two-edged  Sheffield  whittle ;  both  were  bare 
headed,  both  shod  with  heavy-clouted  shoes,  and  both  wore, 
soldered  about  their  necks,  broad  brazen  dog-collars,  having 
the  brand  of  their  condition,  with  their  own  names  and  quali 
ties,  and  that  and  the  condition  of  their  master. 

Here,  however,  ended  the  direct  resemblance,  even  of  their 
garb  ;  for,  while  the  taller  and  better  formed  man  of  the  two, 
who  was  also  somewhat  the  darker  haired  and  finer  featured, 
wore  a  species  of  rude  leather  gauntlets,  with  buskins  of  the 
same  material,  reaching  as  high  as  the  binding  of  the  frock, 
the  other  man  was  bare-armed  and  bare-legged  also,  with  the 
exception  of  an  inartificial  covering  of  thongs  of  boar-hide, 
plaited  from  the  ankle  to  the  knee  upward.  The  latter  also 
carried  no  weapon  but  a  long  quarter-staff,  though  he  held  a 
brace  of  noble  snow-white  alans — the  wire-haired  grayhounds 
of  the  day — in  a  leash  of  twisted  buckskin ;  while  his  brother 
— for  so  strong  was  their  personal  resemblance,  that  their  kin 
ship  could  scarcely  be  doubted — carried  a  short,  steel-headed 
javelin  in  his  hand,  and  had  beside  him,  unrestrained,  a  large 
OOMser  hound,  of  a  deep  brindled  gray  color,  with  clear,  hazel 
eyes;  and  what  was  strange  to  say,  in  view  of  the  condi 
tion  of  this  man,  unmanned,  according  to  the  cruel  forest  code 
of  the  Norman  kings. 

This  difference  in  the  apparel,  and,  it  may  be  added,  in  the 
neatness,  well-being,  and  general  superior  bearing  of  him  who 


THE     FOREST.  23 

was  the  better  armed,  might  perhaps  be  explained  by  a  glance 
at  the  engraving  on  the  respective  collars.  For  while  that  of 
the  one,  and  he  the  better  clad  and  better  looking,  bore  that 
he  was  "  Kenric  the  Dark,  thral  of  the  land  to  Philip  de  Mor- 
ville,"  that  of  the  other  stamped  him  "  Eadwulf  the  Red,  gros 
thral"  of  the  same  Norman  lord. 

Both  Saxon  serfs  of  the  mixed  Northern  race,  which,  largely 
intermixed  with  Danish  blood,  produced  a  nobler,  larger- 
limbed,  loftier,  and  more  athletic  race  than  the  pure  Saxons  of 
the  southern  counties — they  had  fallen,  with  the  properties  of 
the  Saxon  thane,  to  whom  they  had  belonged  in  common, 
into  the  hands  of  the  foreign  conqueror.  Yet  Kenric  was  of 
that  higher  class — for  there  were  classes  even  among  these 
miserable  beings — which  could  not  be  sold,  nor  parted  from 
the  soil  on  which  they  were  born,  but  at  their  own  option ; 
while  Eadwulf,  although  his  own  twin-brother,  for  some 
cause  into  which  it  were  needless  to  inquire,  could  be  sold  at 
any  time,  or  to  any  person,  or  even  swapped  for  an  animal,  or 
gambled  away  at  the  slightest  caprice  of  his  owner. 

To  this  may  be  added,  that,  probably  from  caprice,  or  per 
haps  from  some  predilection  for  his  personal  appearance  and 
motions,  which  were  commanding,  and  even  graceful,  or  for 
his  bearing,  which  was  evidently  less  churlish  than  that  of  his 
countrymen  in  general,  his  master  had  distinguished  him  in 
some  respects  from  the  other  serfs  of  the  soil ;  and,  without 
actually  raising  him  to  any  of  the  higher  offices  reserved  to 
the  Normans,  among  whom  the  very  servitors  claimed  to  be, 
and  indeed  were,  gentlemen,  had  employed  him  in  subordi 
nate  stations  under  his  huntsman,  and  intrusted  him  so  far  as 
occasionally  to  permit  his  carrying  arms  into  the  field. 


24  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

With  him,  as  probably  is  the  case  in  most  things,  the 
action  produced  reaction ;  and  what  had  been  the  effect  of 
causes,  came  in  time  to  be  the  cause  of  effects.  Some 
real  or  supposed  advantages  procured  for  him  the  exceed 
ing  small  dignity  of  some  poor  half-conceded  lights;  and 
those  rights,  the  effect  of  perhaps  an  imaginary  superiority, 
soon  became  the  causes  of  something  more  real — of  a  sen 
timent  of  half  independence,  a  desire  of  achieving  perfect 
liberty. 

In  this  it  was  that  he  excelled  his  brother ;  but  we  must 
not  anticipate.  What  were  the  characters  of  the  men,  and 
from  their  characters  what  events  grew,  and  what  fates  fol 
lowed,  it  is  for  the  reader  of  these  pages  to  decipher. 

After  our  men  had  tarried  where  we  found  them,  waiting 
till  expectation  should  grow  into  certainty  for  above  half  an 
hour,  and  the  morning  had  become  clear  and  sunny,  the  dis 
tant  indescribable  sound,  heard  indistinctly  in  the  woods, 
ripened  into  that  singularly  modulated,  all  sweet,  but  half-dis 
cordant  crash,  which  the  practiced  ear  is  not  slow  to  recog 
nize  as  the  cry  of  a  large  pack  of  hounds,  running  hard  on  a 
hot  scent  in  high  timber. 

Anon  the  notes  of  individual  hounds  could  be  distinguished ; 
now  the  sharp,  savage  treble  of  some  fleet  brach,  now  the 
deep  bass  of  some  southron  talbot,  rising  above  or  falling  far 
below  the  diapason  of  the  pack — and  now,  shrill  and  clear, 
the  long,  keen  flourish  of  a  Norman  bugle. 

At  the  last  signal,  Kenric  rose  silently  but  quickly  to  his 
feet,  while  his  dog,  though  evidently  excited  by  the  approach 
ing  rally  of  the  chase,  remained  steady  at  his  couchant  posi 
tion,  expectant  of  his  master's  words.  The  snow-white  alans, 


THE     FOREST.  25 

on  the  contrary,  fretted,  and  strained,  and  whimpered,  fighting 
against  their  leashes,  while  Eadwulf  sat  still,  stubborn  or  stu 
pid,  and  animated  by  no  ambition,  by  no  hope,  perhaps  scarce 
even  by  a  fear. 

But,  as  the  chase  drew  nigher,  "  Up,  Eadwulf !"  cried  his 
brother,  quickly,  "up,  and  away.  Thou 'It  have  to  stretch 
thy  legs,  even  now,  to  reach  the  four  lane  ends,  where  the  re 
lays  must  be,  when  the  stag  crosses.  Up,  man,  I  say !  Is 
this  the  newer  spirit  you  spoke  of  but  now  ?  this  the  way 
you  would  earn  largess  whereby  to  win  your  freedom  1  Out 
upon  it !  that  I  should  say  so  of  my  own  brother,  but  thou  'It 
win  nothing  but  the  shackles,  if  not  the  thong.  Away !  lest 
my  words  prove  troth." 

Eadwulf  the  Red  arose  with  a  scowl,  but  without  a  word, 
shook  himself  like  a  water-spaniel,  and  set  off  at  a  dogged 
swinging  trot,  the  beautiful  high-bred  dogs  bounding  before 
his  steps  like  winged  creatures,  and  struggling  with  the  leashes 
that  debarred  their  perfect  freedom — the  man  degraded,  by 
the  consciousness  of  misery  and  servitude,  into  the  type  of  a 
soulless  brute — the  brutes  elevated,  by  high  breeding,  high 
cultivation,  and  high  treatment,  almost  into  the  similitude  of 
intellectual  beings. 

Kenric  looked  after  him,  as  he  departed,  with  a  troubled 

*  eye,  and  shook  his  head,  as  he  lost  sight  of  him  among  the 

trees  in  the  fore-ground.     "  Alack !"  he  said,  "  for  Eadwulf, 

my  brother !    He  waxes  worse,  not  better."    But,  as  he  spoke, 

a  nearer  crash  of  the  hounds'  music  came  pealing  through  the 

tree-tops,  and  with  a  stealthy  step  he  crossed  over  the  summit 

to  the  rear  of  the  hillock,  where  he  concealed  himself  behind 

2 


26  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

the  boll  of  a  stupendous  oak,  making  his  greyhound  lie  down 
in  tall  fern  beside  him. 

The  approaching  hounds  came  to  a  sudden  fault,  and  si 
lence,  deep  as  that  of  haunted  midnight,  fell  on  the  solitary 
place. 


CHAPTER    II. 

THE     GOOD     SERVICE. 

u1Tis  merry,  'tis  merry,  in  good  green  wood, 

When  mavis  and  merle  are  singing; 
When  the  deer  sweeps  by,  and  the  hounds  are  in  cry, 
And  the  hunter's  horn  is  ringing." 

LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 

THERE  is  something  exceedingly  singular  in  the  depth  of 
almost  palpable  silence  which  seems  to  fall  upon  a  tract  of 
woodland  country,  on  the  sudden  cessation  of  a  full  cry  of 
stag-hounds ;  which  cry  has  in  itself,  apart  from  its  stirring 
harmony  of  discords,  something  of  cheerfulness  and  sociality, 
conveyed  by  its  sound,  even  to  the  lonely  wayfarer. 

Although,  during  that  hush  of  the  woods,  the  carol  of  the 
birds,  the  hum  of  insects,  the  breezy  voice  of  the  tree-tops,  the 
cooing  of  the  ringdove,  the  murmur  of  falling  waters,  and  all 
the  undistinguished  harmonies  of  nature,  unheard  before,  and 
drowned  in  that  loud  brattling,  sound  forth  and  fill  the  listen 
er's  ear,  yet  they  disturb  it  not,  nor  seem  to  dissipate,  but 
rather  to  augment,  the  influence  of  the  silence. 

Kenric  had  not  the  educated  sentiments  which  lead  the 
most  highly  civilized  of  men  to  sympathize  most  deeply  with 
the  beautiful  sounds  and  sights  of  nature.  Yet  still,  as  is 
mostly  the  case  with  dwellers  in  the  forest  or  on  the  wild 


SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

mountain  tops,  he  had  a  certain  untutored  eye  to  take  in  and 
note  effects — an  unlearned  ear  with  which  to  receive  pleasant 
sounds,  and  acquire  a  fuller  pleasure  from  them  than  he  could 
perfectly  comprehend  or  explain  to  his  own  senses.  And  now, 
when  the  tumult  of  the  chase  had  fallen  asleep,  he  leaned 
against  the  gnarled  and  mossy  trunk,  with  his  boar-spear  rest 
ing  listlessly  against  his  thigh,  and  a  quiet,  meditative  expres 
sion  replacing  on  his  grave,  stern  features  the  earnest  and 
excited  gaze,  with  which  he  had  watched  the  approach  of  the 
hunt. 

The  check,  however,  lasted  not  long ;  the  clear,  shrill  chal 
lenge  of  a  favorite  hound  soon  rose  from  the  woodlands,  ac 
companied  by  loud  cheers,  "  Taro,  Taro,  tantaro  !"  and  fol 
lowed  by  the  full  crash  of  the  reassembled  pack,  as  they  rallied 
to  their  leader,  and  struck  again  on  the  hot  and  steaming 
scent. 

Nearer  and  nearer  came  the  cry,  and  ever  and  anon  uprose, 
distant  and  mellow,  the  cadenced  flourishes  of  the  clear  French 
horns,  giving  new  life  to  the  trackers  of  the  deer,  and  filling 
the  hearts  of  the  riders  with  almost  mad  excitement.  Ere 
long,  several  cushats  might  be  seen  wheeling  above  the  tree- 
tops,  disturbed  from  their  procreant  cradles  by  the  progress 
of  the  fierce  din  below  them.  A  moment  afterward,  dislodged 
from  their  feeding-grounds  along  the  boggy  margin  of  the 
Idle,  a  dozen  woodcock  flapped  up  from  the  alder-bushes  near 
the  brink,  and  came  drifting  along  before  the  soft  wind,  on 
their  feebly  whistling  pinions,  and,  fluttering  over  the  head  of 
the  watcher,  dropped  into  the  shelter  of  the  dingle  in  his  rear, 
with  its  thick  shade  of  varnished  hollies.  The  next  instant,  a 
superb  red  deer,  with  high  branching  antlers,  leaped  with  a 


THE     GOOD     SERVICE.  29 

mighty  spring  over  and  partly  through  the  crashing  branches 
of  the  thicket,  and  swept  with  long,  graceful  bounds  across 
the  clear  savanna,  A  single  shout,  "  Tayho !"  announced  the 
appearance  of  the  quarry  in  the  open,  and  awakened  a  respons 
ive  clangor  of  the  horns,  which,  all  at  once,  sounded  their 
gay  tantivy,  while  the  sharp,  redoubled  clang  of  the  whips, 
and  the  cries  of  "  arriere !  arriere  !"  which  succeeded,  told 
Kenric  that  the  varlets  and  attendants  of  the  chase  were  busy 
stopping  the  slow  hounds,  whose  duty  was  accomplished  so 
soon  as  the  stag  was  forced  into  the  field ;  and  which  were 
now  to  be  replaced  by  the  fleet  and  fiery  alans,  used  to  course 
and  pull  down  the  quarry  by  dint  of  downright  strength  and 
speed. 

The  stretch  of  green  savanna,  of  which  I  have  spoken  as 
running  along  the  northern  margin  of  the  Idle,  below  the 
wooded  ridges  of  the  lower  hills,  could  not  have  been  less  than 
four  miles  in  length,  and  was  traversed  by  two  sandy  paths, 
unguarded  by  any  fence  or  hedge-row,  which  intersected  each 
other  within  a  few  hundred  yards  of  the  belt  of  underwood, 
whence  the  hunted  deer  had  broken  covert.  At  this  point  of 
intersection,  known  as  the  Four-Lane-Ends,  a  general  term  in 
Yorkshire  for  such  cross-roads,  stood  a  gigantic  oak,  short- 
boughed,  but  of  vast  diameter,  with  gnarled  and  tortuous 
branches  sweeping  down  almost  to  the  rank  greensward 
which  surrounded  it,  and  concealing  any  person  who  stood 
within  their  circumference,  as  completely  as  if  he  were  within 
an  artificial  pavilion. 

That  way,  winged  by  terror,  bounded  the  beautiful  hart 
royal;  for  no  less  did  his  ten-tined  antlers,  with  their  huge 
cupped  tops  denote  him ;  and,  though  it  presented  no  real  ob- 


30  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

stacle  to  his  passage,  when  lie  saw  the  yellow  road,  winding 
like  a  rivulet  through  the  deep  grass,  he  gathered  all  his  feet 
together,  made  four  or  five  quick,  short  buck-leaps,  and  then} 
soaring  into  the  air  like  a  bird  taking  wing,  swept  over  it, 
and  alighted  ten  feet  on  the  hither  side,  apparently  with 
out  an  effort — a  miracle  of  mingled  grace,  activity,  and 
beauty. 

As  he  alighted,  he  paused  a  moment,  turned  his  long,  swan- 
like  neck,  and  gazed  backward  for  a  few  seconds  with  his 
large,  lustrous,  melancholy  eyes,  until,  seeing  no  pursuers,  nor 
hearing  any  longer  the  crash  which  had  aroused  him  from  his 
harbor,  he  tossed  his  antlers  proudly,  and  sailed  easily  and 
leisurely  across  the  gentle  green. 

But  at  this  moment,  Eadwulf  the  Red,  who  was  stationed 
beneath  that  very  oak-tree  with  the  first  relay  of  grayhounds, 
uttered  a  long,  shrill  whoop,  and  casting  loose  the  leashes, 
slipped  the  two  snow-white  alans  on  the  quarry.  The  whoop 
was  answered  immediately,  and,  at  about  half  a  mile's  dis 
tance  from  the  spot  where  the  deer  had  issued,  two  princely- 
looking  Norman  nobles,  clearly  distinguishable  as  such  by 
their  richly-furred  short  hunting-coats,  tight  hose,  and  golden 
spurs  of  knighthood,  came  into  sight,  spurring  their  noble 
Audalusian  coursers — at  that  period  the  fleetest  strain  in  the 
world,  which  combined  high  blood  with  the  capacity  to  en 
dure  the  weight  of  a  man-at-arms  in  his  full  panoply — to  their 
fullest  speed ;  and  followed  by  a  long  train  of  attendants — 
some  mounted,  some  on  foot,  huntsmen  and  verdurers,  and 
yeomen  prickers,  with  falconers,  and  running  footmen,  some 
leading  alans  in  the  leash,  and  some  with  nets  and  spears  for 
the  chase  of  the  wild  boar,  which  still  roamed  not  unfrequent 


THE     GOOD     SERVICE.  81 

in  the  woody  swamps  that  intersected  the  lower  grounds  and 
lined  many  of  the  river  beds  of  Sherwood. 

It  was  a  gay  and  stirring  scene.  The  meadow,  late  so  quiet 
in  its  uniform  green  garniture,  was  now  alive  with  fluttering 
plumes,  and  glittering  with  many-colored  scarfs  and  cassocks, 
noble  steeds  of  all  hues,  blood-bay  and  golden  chestnut,  dap 
pled  and  roan,  and  gleamy  blacks,  and  one,  on  which  rode  the 
foremost  of  the  noble  Normans,  white  as  December's  snow ; 
and  in  the  middle  of  the  picture,  aroused  by  the  shouts  in  his 
rear,  and  aware  of  the  presence  of  his  fresh  pursuers,  the  su 
perb  stag,  with  his  neck  far  stretched  out,  and  his  grand  antlers 
pressed  close  along  his  back,  straining  every  nerve,  and  liter 
ally  seeming  to  fly  over  the  level  sward ;  while  the  snow-white 
alans,  with  their  fierce  black  eyes  glowing  like  coals  of  fire, 
and  their  blood-red  tongues  lolling  from  their  open  jaws, 
breathless  and  mute,  but  stanch  as  vindictive  fiends,  hung 
hard  upon  his  traces. 

At  first,  the  hunted  stag  laid  his  course  upward,  diagonally, 
aiming  for  the  forest  land  on  the  hillside ;  and  although,  at 
first,  he  had  scarce  thirty  yards  of  law,  and  was,  moreover, 
so  nearly  matched  in  speed  by  his  relentless  enemies,  that,  for 
many  hundred  yards,  he  neither  gained  nor  lost  a  yard's  dis 
tance,  still  he  gradually  gathered  way,  as  yards  fell  into  fur 
longs,  furlongs  into  miles,  and  drew  ahead  slowly,  but  surely, 
until  it  appeared  almost  certain  that  he  must  soon  gain  the 
shelter  of  the  tall  timber,  where  the  keen  eyes  of  the  alans, 
impotent  of  scent,  would  be  worthless  in  pursuit,  and  where 
he  must  again  be  dislodged  by  slow  hounds,  or  the  chase 
abandoned. 

Just  as  he  was  within  fifty  yards,  however,  of  the  desired 


32  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

covert's  edge,  Sir  Philip  de  Morville — for  he  it  was  who  rode 
the  foremost— raised  his  bugle  to  his  lips,  and  sounded  it  long 
and  shrill,  in  a  most  peculiar  strain,  to  which  a  whoop  respond 
ed,  almost  from  the  point  for  which  the  stag  was  making,  and, 
at  the  same  time,  a  second  brace  of  alans — one  a  jet  black, 
and  the  other  a  deep-brindled  fawn  color — darted  out,  and 
flew  down  the  gentle  slope,  right  at  the  head  of  the  yet  un 
wearied  quarry. 

Springing  high  into  air,  he  instantly  made  a  perfect  demi- 
volte,  with  an  angry  toss  of  his  antlers,  and  shot,  with  re 
doubled  efforts  in  the  contrary  direction,  cutting  across  the 
very  noses  of  his  original  pursuers,  which,  when  they  had 
turned  likewise,  were  brought  within  fifty  yards  of  his 
haunches,  and  away  like  an  arrow  toward  the  bridge  across 
the  Idle.  From  this  moment,  the  excitement  of  the  spectacle 
was  redoubled ;  nor  could  any  one,  even  .the  coldest  of  spec 
tators,  have  looked  on  without  feeling  the  blood  course,  like 
molten  lava,  through  his  veins. 

It  was  no  longer  a  stern  chase,  where  the  direct  speed  only 
of  the  rival  and  hostile  animals  was  brought  into  play ;  for,  as 
the  stag  turned  to  the  left  about,  the  black  and  brindled  alans, 
which  had  been  started  at  his  head,  were  thrown  by  the 
movement  some  thirty  yards  wide  on  his  right  quarter ;  while 
the  white  dogs,  who  had  pursued  him  so  savagely  from  the 
beginning,  were  brought  to  a  position  nearly  equidistant  on 
his  left  flank. 

Henceforth  it  was  a  course  of  fleet  bounds,  short  turns,  and 
windings  of  wonderful  agility;  and  at  this  instant  a  new 
spectator,  or  spectatress  rather,  was  added  to  the  scene. 

This  was  a  young  girl  of  some  sixteen  or  seventeen  years, 


THE     GOOD     SERVICE.  33 

at  the  utmost,  beautifully  formed,  and  full  of  easy  grace  and 
symmetry,  who  came  careering  down  the  road,  from  the  direc 
tion  of  the  castle,  as  fast  as  the  flying  bounds  of  a  beautiful 
red  roan  Arab — with  mane  and  tail  of  silver,  scarcely  larger 
or  less  fleet  than  the  deer  in  the  plain  below — could  carry  her. 

Her  face  and  features  were  not  less  beautiful  than  her  form ; 
the  latter  would  have  been  perfectly  Grecian  and  classical  but 
for  the  slightest  possible  upward  turn  in  the  delicate  thin  nose, 
which  imparted  an  arch,  half-saucy  meaning  to  her  rich, 
laughing  face.  Her  eyes  were  clear,  bright  blue,  with  long, 
dark  lashes,  a  pure  complexion,  ripe,  crimson  lips,  and  a  flood 
of  dark  auburn  tresses,  which  had  escaped  from  the  confine 
ment  of  her  purple  velvet  bonnet,  and  flowed  on  the  light 
breeze  in  a  flood  of  glittering  ringlets,  completed  her  attrac 
tions. 

Her  garb  was  the  rich  attire  peculiar  to  her  age,  rank,  and 
the  period  of  which  we  write — the  most  picturesque,  perhaps, 
and  appropriate  to  set  off  the  perfections  of  a  female  figure  of 
rare  symmetry,  that  ever  has  been  invented.  A  closely-fitting 
jacket,  following  every  curve  and  sinuous  line  of  her  beaute 
ous  shape,  of  rich  green  velvet,  furred  deeply  at  the  cape  and 
cuffs  with  white  swansdown,  and  bordered  at  the  hips  by  a 
broad  band  of  the  same  pure  garniture ;  loose-flowing  skirts, 
of  heavy  sendal  of  the  same  hue,  a  crimson  velvet  shoulder- 
belt  supporting  a  richly-embroidered  hawking-pouch,  a  float 
ing  plume  of  white  ostrich  feathers,  and  a  crimson-hooded 
merlin  on  her  wrist,  with  golden  bells  and  jesses,  completed 
her  person's  adornment ;  and  combined,  with  the  superb  hous 
ings  and  velvet  headstall  of  her  exquisite  palfrey,  to  form  a 
charming  picture. 


34  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

So  rapidly  did  she  ride,  that  a  single  page — a  boy  of  ten  or 
twelve  years,  who  followed  her — spurring  with  all  his  might, 
could  scarcely  keep  her  in  sight ;  and,  as  she  careered  down 
toward  the  bridge,  which  she  had  almost  reached,  was  lost  to 
view  in  the  valley  immediately  behind  the  ridge,  the  southern 
slope  of  which  she  was  descending. 

The  stag,  by  this  time,  which  had  been  aiming  hitherto  to 
cross  the  road  on  which  she  was  galloping,  had  been  turned 
several  times  by  the  fresh  relay  of  alans,  which  were  untired 
and  unimpaired  of  speed,  and  had  been  thus  edged  gradually 
away  from  the  road  and  bridge,  toward  the  white  dogs,  which 
were  now  running,  as  it  is  technically  termed,  cunning,  laying 
up  straight  ahead,  on  a  parallel  line,  and  almost  abreast  with 
the  deer.  Now  they  drew  forward,  shot  ahead,  and  passed 
him.  At  once,  seeing  his  peril,  he  wheeled  on  his  haunches, 
and,  with  a  desperate  last  effort,  headed  once  more  for  the 
road,  striving,  for  life !  for  life !  to  cut  across  the  right-hand 
couple  of  deer  grayhounds ;  but,  fleet  as  he  was,  fleeter  now 
did  they  show  themselves,  and  once  more  he  was  forced  to 
turn,  only  to  find  the  white  dogs  directly  in  his  path. 

One,  the  taller  and  swifter  of  the  two,  was  a  few  yards  in 
advance  of  the  other,  and,  as  the  stag  turned  full  into  his  foam 
ing  jaws,  sprang  at  its  throat  with  a  wild  yell.  But  the  deer 
bounded  too,  and  bounded  higher  than  the  dog,  and,  as  they 
met  in  mid  air,  its  keen,  sharp-pointed  hoofs  struck  the  brave 
staghound  in  the  chest,  and  hurled  him  to  the  ground  stunned, 
if  not  lifeless.  Four  strides  more,  and  he  swept  like  a  swal 
low  over  a  narrow  reach  of  the  little  river ;  and  then,  having 
once  more  brought  the  three  surviving  hounds  directly  astern, 
turned  to  the  westward  along  the  river  shore,  and  cantering 


THE     GOOD     SERVICE.  35 

away  lightly,  no  longer  so  hard  pressed,  seemed  likely  to  make 
his  escape  toward  a  broad  belt  of  forest,  which  lay  some  mile 
and  a  half  that  way,  free  from  ambuscade  or  hidden  peril. 

At  this  turn  of  the  chase,  fiercer  was  the  excitement,  and 
wilder  waxed  the  shouting  and  the  bugle  blasts  of  the  discom 
fited  followers  of  the  chase,  none  of  whom  were  nearer  to  the 
bridge  than  a  full  half  mile.  But  so  animated  was  the  beau 
tiful  young  lady,  whose  face  had  flushed  crimson,  and  then 
turned  ashy  pale,  with  the  sudden  excitement  of  that  bold 
exploit  of  dog  and  deer,  that  she  clapped  her  hands  joyously 
together,  unhooding  and  casting  loose  her  merlin,  though 
without  intention,  in  the  act,  and  crying,  gayly,  "  Well  run, 
brave  Hercules !  well  leaped,  brave  Hart  o'  Grease ;"  and,  as  she 
saw  the  hunters  scattered  over  the  wide  field,  none  so  near  to 
the  sport  as  she,  she  flung  her  arm  aloft,  and  with  her  pretty 
girlish  voice  set  up  a  musical  whoop  of  defiance. 

Now,  at  the  very  moment  when  the  deer's  escape  seemed 
almost  more  than  certain — as  often  is  the  case  in  human  af 
fairs,  no  less  than  cervine — "  a  new  foe  in  the  field"  changed 
the  whole  aspect  of  the  case.  The  great  brindled  gray  deer- 
hound,  which  had  lain  thus  far  peaceful  by  Kenric's  side,  see 
ing  what  had  passed,  sprang  out  of  the  fern,  unbidden,  swam 
across  the  Idle  in  a  dozen  strokes,  and  once  more  headed  the 
hunted  deer. 

The  young  girl  was  now  within  six  horses'  length  of  the 
bridge,  when  the  deer,  closely  pursued  by  its  original  assail 
ants,  and  finding  itself  now  intercepted  by  Kenric's  dog  "  Kil- 
buck"  in  front,  turned  once  again  in  the  only  direction  now 
left  it,  and  wheeled  across  the  bridge  at  full  speed,  black  with 
sweat,  flecked  with  white  foam-flakes,  its  tongue  hanging  from 


36  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

its  swollen  jaws,  its  bloodshot  eyeballs  almost  starting  from  its 
head,  mad  with  terror  and  despair.  All  at  once,  the  Arab 
horse  and  the  gorgeous  trappings  of  the  rider  glanced  across 
its  line  of  vision ;  fire  seemed,  to  the  affrighted  girl,  to  flash 
from  its  glaring  eyes,  as  it  lowered  its  mighty  antlers,  and 
charged  with  a  fierce,  angry  bray. 

Pale  as  death,  the  gallant  girl  yet  retained  her  courage  and 
her  faculties ;  she  pulled  so  sharply  on  her  left  rein,  striking 
the  palfrey  on  the  shoulder  with  her  riding-rod,  that  he 
wheeled  short  on  his  haunches,  and  presented  his  right  flank 
to  the  infuriated  deer,  protecting  his  fair  rider  by  the  inter 
position  of  his  body. 

No  help  was  nigh,  though  the  Norman  nobles  saw  her  peril, 
and  spurred  madly  to  the  rescue ;  though  Kenric  started  from 
his  lair  with  a  portentous  whoop,  and,  poising  his  boar  spear, 
rushed  down,  in  the  hope  to  turn  the  onset  to  himself.  But 
it  was  too  late ;  and,  strong  as  was  his  hand,  and  his  eyes 
steady,  he  dared  not  to  hurl  such  a  weapon  as  that  he  held,  in 
such  proximity  to  her  he  would  defend. 

With  an  appalling  sound,  a  soft,  dead,  crushing  thrust,  the 
terrible  brow  antlers  were  plunged  into  the  defenseless  flanks 
of  the  poor  palfrey ;  which,  hung,  for  a  second  on  the  cruel 
prongs,  and  then,  with  a  long,  shivering  scream,  rolled  over 
on  its  side,  with  collapsed  limbs,  and,  after  a  few  convulsive 
struggles,  lay  dead,  with  the  lovely  form  of  its  mistress  rolled 
under  it,  pale,  motionless,  with  the  long  golden  hair  disordered 
in  the  dust,  and  the  blue  eyes  closed,  stunned,  cold,  and  spirit 
less,  at  least,  if  not  lifeless. 

Attracted  by  the  gay  shoulder-belt  of  the  poor  girl,  again 
the  savage  beast  stooped  to  gore  ;  but  a  strong  hand  was  on 


THE     GOOD     SERVICE.  37 

his  antler,  and  a  keen  knife-point  buried  in  liis  breast.  Sore 
stricken  lie  was,  yet,  not  slain ;  and,  rearing  erect  on  his  hind 
legs,  he  dealt  such  a  storm  of  blows  from  his  sharp  hoofs,  each 
cutting  almost  like  a  knife,  about  the  head  and  shoulders  of 
his  dauntless  antagonist,  as  soon  hurled  him,  in  no  better  con 
dition  than  she,  beside  the  lady  he  had  risked  so  much  to 
rescue. 

Then  the  dogs  closed  and  seized  him,  and  savage  and  ap 
palling  was  the  strife  of  the  fierce  brutes,  with  long-drawn, 
choking  sighs,  and  throttling  yells,  as  they  raved,  and  tore, 
and  stamped,  and  battled,  over  the  prostrate  group. 

It  was  a  fearful  sight  that  met  the  eyes  of  the  first  comer. 
He  was  the  Norman  who  had  ridden  second  in  the  chase,  but 
now,  having  outstripped  his  friendly  rival  in  the  neck-or-noth- 
ing  skurry  that  succeeded,  thundered  the  first  into  the  road, 
where  the  dogs  were  now  mangling  the  slaughtered  stag,  and 
besmearing  the  pale  face  of  the  senseless  girl  with  blood  and 
bestial  foam. 

To  spring  from  his  saddle  and  drop  on  his  knees  beside  her, 
was  but  a  moment's  work. 

"  My  child  !  my  child  !  they  have  slaughtered  thee.     Woe ! 


woe  I 


,.. 


CHAPTER    III. 

THE     GUERDON     OF     GOOD     SERVICE. 

"Twere  better  to  die  free,  than  live  a  slave." 

EURIPIDES. 

IT  was  fortunate,  for  all  concerned,  that  no  long  time  elapsed 
before  more  efficient  aid  came  on  the  ground,  than  the  gentle 
man  who  first  reached  the  spot,  and  who,  although  a  member 
of  that  dauntless  chivalry,  trained  from  their  cradles  to  endure 
hardship,  to  despise  danger,  and  to  look  death  steadfastly  and 
unmoved  in  the  face,  was  so  utterly  paralyzed  by  what  he 
deemed,  not  unnaturally,  the  death  of  his  darling,  that  he 
made  no  effort  to  relieve  her  from  the  weight  of  the  slaugh 
tered  animal,  though  it  rested  partially  on  her  lower  limbs, 
and  on  one  arm,  which  lay  extended,  nevertheless,  as  it  had 
fallen,  in  the  dust.  But  up  came,  in  an  instant,  Philip  de 
Morville,  on  his  superb,  snow-white  Andalusian,  a  Norman 
baron  to  the  life — tall,  powerful,  thin-flanked,  deep-chested, 
with  the  high  aquiline  features  and  dark  chestnut  hair  of  his 
race,  nor  less  with  its  dauntless  valor,  grave  courtesy,  and 
heart  as  impassive  to  fear  or  tenderness  or  pity,  as  his  own 
steel  hauberk.  Up  came  esquires  and  pages,  foresters  and 
grooms,  and  springing  tumultuously  to  the  ground,  under  the 


THE  GUERDON  OF  GOOD  SERVICE.       39 

short,  prompt  orders  of  their  lord,  raised  the  dead  palfrey 
bodily  up,  while  Sir  Philip  drew  the  fair  girl  gently  from  un 
der  it,  and  raising  her  in  his  arms  more  tenderly  than  he  had 
ever  been  known  to  entreat  any  thing,  unless  it  were  his  favor 
ite  falcon,  laid  her  on  the  short,  soft  greensward,  under  the 
shadow  of  one  of  the  huge,  broad-headed  oaks  by  the  way 
side. 

"  Cheer  thee,  my  noble  lord  and  brother,"  he  exclaimed, 
"  the  Lady  Guendolen  is  not  dead,  nor  like  to  die  this  time. 
'T  is  only  fear,  and  perchance  her  fall,  for  it  was  a  heavy  one, 
that  hath  made  her  faint.  Bustle,  knaves,  bustle.  Bring 
water  from  the  spring  yonder.  Has  no  one  a  leathern  bot- 
tiau  ?  You,  Damian,  gallop,  as  if  you  would  win  your  spurs 
of  gold  by  riding,  to  the  sumpter  mule  with  the  panniers.  It 
should  be  at  the  palmer's  spring  by  this  tune  ;  for,  hark,  the 
bells  from  the  gray  brothers'  chapel,  in  the  valley  by  the  river, 
are  chiming  for  the  noontide  service.  Bring  wine  and  essences, 
electuaries  and  ambergris,  if  the  refectioner  have  any  with  him. 
You,  Raoul,"  he  continued,  addressing  a  sturdy,  grim-featured 
old  verdurer,  who  was  hanging  over  the  still  senseless  girl 
with  an  expression  of  solicitude  hardly  natural  to  his  rugged 
and  scar-seamed  countenance,  "  take  a  led  horse,  and  hie  thee 
to  the  abbey;  tell  the  good  prior  what  hath  befallen,  and 
pray  the  brother  mediciner  he  will  ride  this  way,  as  speedily 
as  he  may ;  and  you,"  turning  to  the  old,  white-haired  senes 
chal,  "  send  up  some  of  the  varlets  to  the  castle,  for  the  horse- 
litter  ;  she  may  not  ride  home  this  day." 

In  the  mean  time,  while  he  was  accumulating  order  on 
order,  while  pages  and  horseboys,  grooms  and  esquires,  were 
galloping  off,  in  different  directions,  as  if  with  spurs  of  fire, 


40  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

and  while  the  barons  themselves  were  awkwardly  endeavoring 
to  perform  those  ministrations  for  the  fair  young  creature, 
which  they  were  much  more  used  themselves  to  receive  at  the 
hands  of  the  softer  sex,  who  were  in  those  rude  days  often  the 
chirurgeons  and  leeches,  as  well  as  the  comforters  and  sooth 
ers  of  the  bed  of  pain  and  sickness,  than  to  do  such  offices  for 
others,  the  bold  defender  of  Guendolen — Kenric  the  dark- 
haired — lay  in  his  blood,  stark  and  cold,  deemed  dead,  and 
quite  forgotten,  even  by  the  lowest  of  the  Norman  varletry, 
who  held  themselves  too  noble  to  waste  services  upon  a  Saxon, 
much  more  upon  a  thral  and  bondsman. 

They — such  of  them,  that  is  to  say,  as  were  not  needed  in 
direct  attendance  on  the  persons  of  the  nobles,  or  as  had  not 
been  dispatched  in  search  of  aid — applied  themselves,  with 
characteristic  zeal  and  eagerness,  to  tend  and  succor  the  no 
bler  animals,  as  they  held  them,  of  the  chase ;  while  they 
abandoned  their  brother  man  and  fellow-countryman,  military 
Levites  as  they  were,  to  his  chances  of  life  or  death,  without 
so  much  as  even  caring  to  ask  or  examine  whether  he  were 
numbered  with  the  living  or  the  dead. 

The  palfrey  was  first  seen  to,  and  pronounced  dead ;  when 
his  rich  housings  were  stripped  off  carefully,  and  cleaned  as 
well  as  time  and  place  permitted ;  when  the  carcass  was 
dragged  off  the  road,  and  conceaU  d,  for  the  moment,  with 
fern  leaves  and  boughs  lopped  from  the  neighboring  bushes, 
while  something  was  said  among  the  stable  boys  of  sending 
out  some  of  the  "dog  Saxon  serfs"  to  bury  him  on  the 
morrow. 

The  deer  was  then  dragged  roughly  whence  it  lay,  across 
the  breast  of  Kenric,  in  whose  left  shoulder  one  of  its  terrible 


THE  GUERDON  OF  GOOD  SERVICE.       41 

brow  antlers  had  made  a  deep  gash,  while  his  right  arm  was 
badly  shattered  by  a  blow  of  its  sharp  hoofs.  So  careless 
were  the  men  of  inflicting  pain  on  the  living,  or  dishonor  on 
the  dead,  that  one  of  them,  in  removing  the  quarry,  set  his 
booted  foot  square  on  the  Saxon's  chest,  and  forced,  by  the 
joint  effect  of  the  pressure  and  the  pain,  a  stifled,  choking 
sound,  half  involuntary,  half  a  groan,  from  the  pale  lips  of  the 
motionless  sufferer.  With  a  curse,  and  a  slight,  contemptu 
ous  kick,  the  Norman  groom  turned  away,  with  his  antlered 
burthen,  muttering  a  ribald  jest  on  "  the  death-grunt  of  the 
Saxon  boar ;"  and  drawing  his  keen  woodknife,  was  soon  deep 
in  the  mysteries  of  the  curee,  and  deeper  yet  in  blood  and 
grease,  prating  of  "nombles,  briskets,  flankards,  and  raven- 
bones,"  then  the  usual  terms  of  the  art  of  hunting,  or  butchery, 
whichever  the  reader  chooses  to  call  it,  which  are  now  proba 
bly  antiquated.  The  head  was  cabbaged,  as  it  was  called,  and, 
with  the  entrails,  given  as  a  reward  to  the  fierce  hounds, 
which  glared  with  ravenous  eyes  on  the  gory  carcass.  Even 
its  peculiar  morsel  was  chucked  to  the  attendant  raven,  the 
black  bird  of  St.  Hubert,  which — free  from  any  apprehension 
of  the  gentle  hunters,  who  affected  to  treat  him  with  respect 
ful  and  reverential  awe — sat  on  the  stag-horned  peak  of  an 
aged  oak-tree,  awaiting  his  accustomed  portion,  with  an  ob 
servant  eye  and  an  occasional  croak.  By-and-by,  when  the 
sumpter  mule  came  up,  with  kegs  of  ale  and  bottiaus  of  mead 
and  hypocras,  and  wine  of  Gascony  and  Anjou,  before  even 
the  riders'  throats  were  slaked  by  the  generous  liquor,  the 
bridle-bits  and  cavessons,  nose-bags  and  martingales  of  the 
coursers  were  removed,  and  liberal  drenches  were  bestow- 
eJ  on  them,  partly  in  guerdon  of  past  services,  partly  in 


42  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

order  to  renew  their  strength  and  stimulate  their  valiant 
ardor. 

Long  ere  this,  however,  fanned  by  two  or  three  pages  with 
fans  of  fern  wreaths,  and  sprinkled  with  cold  spring-water  by 
the  hands  of  her  solicitous  kinsman,  the  young  girl  had  given 
symptoms  of  returning  life,  and  a  brighter  expression  returned 
to  the  dark,  melancholy  visage  of  her  father. 

Two  or  three  long,  faint,  fluttering  sighs  came  from  her 
parted  lips;  and  then,  regular,  though  low  and  feeble,  her 
breathing  made  itself  heard,  and  her  girlish  bosom  rose  and 
fell  responsive. 

Her  father,  who  had  been  chafing  her  hands  assiduously, 
pressed  one  of  them  caressingly,  at  this  show  of  returning  ani 
mation,  and  raised  it  to  his  lips;  when,  awakening  at  the 
accustomed  tenderness,  her  languid  eyes  opened,  a  faint  light 
of  intelligence  shone  forth  from  them,  a  pale  glow  of  hectic 
color  played  over  her  face,  and  a  smile  glittered  for  a  second 
on  her  quivering  lips. 

"Dear  father,"  she  whispered,  faintly;  but,  the  next  mo 
ment,  an  expression  of  fear  was  visible  in  all  her  features,  and 
a  palpable  shiver  shook  all  her  frame.  "  The  stag !"  she  mur 
mured  ;  "  the  stag !  save  me,  save" — and  before  the  word, 
uttered  simultaneously  by  the  two  lords — "  He  is  dead,  dear 
one,"  "  He  will  harm  no  one  any  more" — had  reached  her 
ears,  she  again  relapsed  into  insensibility,  while  with  equal 
care,  but  renewed  hope,  they  tended  and  caressed  her. 

But  Kenric  no  one  tended,  no  one  caressed,  save,  "  faithful 
still,  where  all  were  faithless  found,"  the  brindled  staghound, 
"  Killbuck,"  who  licked  his  face  assiduously,  with  his  grim, 
gory  tongue  and  lips,  and  besmeariug  his  face  with  blood 


THE     GUERDON-  OF     GOOD     SERVICE.  43 

and  foam,  rendered  his  aspect  yet  more  terrible  and  death 
like. 

But  now  the  returning  messengers  began  to  ride  in,  fast  and 
frequent;  first,  old  Raoul,  the  huntsman,  surest,  although  not 
fleetest,  and  with  him,  shaking  in  his  saddle,  between  the 
sense  of  peril  and  the  perplexity  occasioned  him  by  the  high, 
hard  trot  of  the  Norman  war-horse  pressed  into  such  un 
wonted  service,  "like  a  boar's  head  in  aspick  jelly,"  the 
brother  mediciner  from  the  neighboring  convent,  with  his 
wallet  of  simples  and  instruments  of  chirurgery. 

By  Ms  advice,  the  plentiful  application  of  cold  water,  with 
essences  and  stimulants  in  abundance,  a  generous  draught  of 
rich  wine  of  Burgundy,  and,  when  animation  seemed  thor 
oughly  revived,  the  gentle  breathing  of  a  vein,  soon  restored 
the  young  lady  to  her  perfect  senses  and  complete  self-posses 
sion,  though  she  was  sorely  bruised,  and  so  severely  shaken 
that  it  was  enjoined  on  her  to  remain  perfectly  quiet,  where 
she  lay,  with  a  Lincoln-green  furred  hunting-cloak  around 
her,  until  the  arrival  of  the  litter  should  furnish  means  of  re 
turn  to  the  castle  of  her  father's  host  and  kinsman. 

And,  in  good  season,  down  the  hill,  slowly  and  toilsomely 
came  the  horse-litter,  poor  substitute  for  a  wheeled  vehicle  ; 
but  even  thus  the  best,  if  not  only,  conveyance  yet  adopted 
for  the  transport  of  the  wounded,  the  feeble,  or  the  luxurious, 
and,  as  such,  used  only  by  the  wealthy  and  the  noble. 

With  the  litter  came  three  or  four  women;  one  or  two, 
Norman  maidens,  the  immediate  attendants  of  the  Lady 
Guendolen,  and  the  others,  Saxon  slave  girls  of  the  household 
of  Sir  Philip  de  Morville,  who  hurried  down,  eager  to  gain 
favor  by  show  of  zealous  duty,  or  actuated  by  woman's  feel- 


44  SHERWOODFOREST. 

ings  for  woman's  suffering,  even  in  different  grades  and  sta 
tion. 

The  foremost  of  them  all,  bounding  along  with  all  the  wild 
agility  and  free  natural  gracefulness  of  wood-nymph  or  bac 
chante,  was  a  girl  of  seventeen  or  eighteen,  not  above  the 
middle  height  of  her  sex,  but  plump  as  a  partridge,  with  limbs 
exquisitely  formed  and  rounded,  a  profusion  of  flaxen  tresses 
floating  unrestrained  on  the  air,  large  dark-blue  eyes,  and  a 
complexion  all  of  milk  and  roses — the  very  type  of  rural 
Saxon  youth  and  beauty. 

As  she  outstripped  all  the  rest  in  speed,  she  was  the  first  to 
tender  gentle  service  to  the  Lady  Guendolen,  who  received 
her  with  a  smile,  calling  her  "  Edith  the  Fair,"  and  thanking 
her  for  her  ready  aid. 

But,  ere  long,  as  the  courtlier  maidens  arrived  on  the 
ground,  poor  Edith  was  set  aside,  as  is  too  often  the  case  with 
humble  merit,  while  the  others  lifted  the  lady  into  the  horse- 
litter,  covered  her  with  light  and  perfumed  garlands,  and  soon 
had  all  ready  for  her  departure. 

But,  in  the  mean  time,  Edith  had  turned  a  hasty  glance 
around  her ;  and  descrying  the  inanimate  body  of  the  Saxon 
serf,  lying  alone  and  untended,  moved  by  the  gentle  sympathy 
of  woman  for  the  humblest  unknown  sufferer,  she  hastened  to 
assist,  if  assistance  were  still  possible.  But,  as  she  recognized 
the  limbs,  stately,  though  cold  and  still,  and  the  features,  still 
noble  through  gore  and  defilement,  a  swift  horror  smote  her, 
that  she  shook  like  a  leaf,  and  fell,  with  a  wild,  thrilling 
shriek,  "  0,  Kenric,  Kenric !"  on  the  body  of  the  wounded 
man. 

"  Ha  !  what  is  this  ?"  cried  Sir  Philip,  who  now  first  saw  or 


THE     GUERDON     O  1?     GOOD     SERVICE.  45 

remembered  what  had  passed.  "  How  is  this  1  Knaves,  is 
there  a  man  hurt  here  ?" 

"  A  Saxon  churl,  Beausire,"  replied  one  of  the  pages,  flip 
pantly,  "  who  has  gotten  his  brisket  unseamed  by  his  brother 
Saxon  yonder !"  and  he  pointed  to  the  dead  carcass  of  the 
stag. 

"  Our  lady  save  us,"  murmured  the  gentle  Guendolen,  who 
seemed  about  to  relapse  into  insensibility  ;  "  he  saved  my  life, 
and  have  ye  let  him  perish  ?" 

"  Now,  by  the  splendor  of  our  lady's  eyes !"  cried  Yvo.  de 
Taillebois,  the  father  of  the  fair  young  lady,  "  this  is  the  gal 
lant  lad  we  saw  afar,  in  such  bold  hand-to-hand  encounter 
with  yon  mad  brute.  "We  have  been  ingrately,  shamefully  re 
miss.  This  must  be  amended,  Philip  de  Morville." 

"  It  shall,  it  shall,  my  noble  friend,"  cried  Philip  ;  "  and  ye, 
dogs,  that  have  let  the  man  perish  untended  thus,  for  doing 
of  his  devoir  better  than  all  the  best  of  ye,  bestir  yourselves. 
If  the  man  die,  as  it  seems  like  enow,  ye  shall  learn  ere  ye  are 
one  day  older,  what  pleasant  bed-rooms  are  the  vaults  of 
Waltheofstow,  and  how  tastes  the  water  of  the  moat." 

Meantime  the  monk  trotted  up,  and,  after  brief  examina 
tion,  announced  that,  though  badly  hurt,  his  life  was  in  no 
immediate  peril,  and  set  himself  at  once  to  comfort  and  revive 
him. 

"He  is  not  slain ;  he  will  not  die,  my  child,"  said  Sir  Yvo, 
softly,  bending  over  the  litter  to  his  pale  lily,  who  smiled 
faintly  as  she  whispered  in  reply — 

"  Dear  father,  nor  be  a  slave  any  longer  ?" 

"  Xot  if  I  may  redeem  him,"  he  answered ;  "  but  I  will 
speak  with  Sir  Philip  at  once.  Meanwhile  be  tranquil,  and  let 


40  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

them  convey  you  homeward.  Forward,  there,  with  the  litter 
— gently,  forward !" 

And,  therewith,  he  turned  and  spoke  eagerly  to  De  Mor- 
ville,  who  listened  with  a  grave  brow,  and  answered ; 

"  If  it  may  be,  my  noble  friend  and  brother.  If  it  may  be. 
But  there  are  difficulties.  Natheless,  on  my  life,  I  desire  to 
pleasure  you." 

"  Nay  !  it  comports  not  with  our  name  or  station,  that  the 
noble  Guendolen  de  Taillebois  should  owe  life  to  a  collared 
thral — a  mere  brute  animal.  My  lord,  your  word  on  it ! 
lie  must  be  free,  since  Yvo  de  Taillebois  is  his  debtor." 

"  My  word  is  pledged  on  it,"  replied  De  Morville.  "  If  it 
can  be  at  all,  it  shall  be.  Nay,  look  not  so  black  on  it.  It 
shall  be.  We  will  speak  farther  of  it  at  the  castle !  And 
now,  lo  !  how  he  opes  his  eyes  and  stares.  He  will  be  right, 
anon  ;  and  ye,  knaves,  bear  him  to  the  castle,  when  the  good 
brother  bids  ye,  and  gently,  if  ye  would  escape  a  reckoning 
with  me.  And  now,  good  friends,  to  horse  !  to  horse  !  The 
litter  is  half-way  to  the  castle  gates  already.  To  horse !  to 
horse  !  and  God  send  us  no  more  such  sorry  huntings." 


CHAPTER    IV. 


THE      NORMAN      LORDS. 


"Oh!  it  is  excellent 

To  have  a  giant's  strength,  but  tyrannous 
To  use  it  like  a  giant" 

MEASURE  FOE  MEASURE. 


HIGH  up  in  a  green,  gentle  valley,  a  lap  among  the  hills, 
which,  though  not  very  lofty,  were  steep  and  abrupt  with 
limestone  crags  and  ledges,  heaving  themselves  above  the  soil 
on  their  upper  slopes  and  summits,  perched  on  a  small  iso 
lated  knoll,  or  hillock,  so  regular  in  form,  and  so  evenly 
scarped  and  rounded,  that  it  bore  the  appearance  of  an  ar 
tificial  work,  stood  the  tall  Norman  fortalice  of  Philip  de 
Morville. 

It  was  not  a  very  large  building,  consisting  principally  of  a 
single  lofty  square  keep,  with  four  lozenge-shaped  turrets 
at  the  angles,  attached  to  the  body  of  the  place,  merlonwise, 
as  it  is  termed  in  heraldry,  or  corner  to  corner,  rising  some 
twenty  feet  or  more  above  the  flat  roof  of  the  tower,  which 
was  surrounded  with  heavy  projecting  battlements  widely 
overhanging  the  base,  and  pierced  with  crenelles  for  archery, 
and  deep  machicolations,  by  which  to  pour  down  boiling  oil, 
or  molten  lead,  upon  any  who  should  attempt  the  walls. 


48  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

In  the  upper  stories  only,  of  this  strong  place,  were  there 
any  windows,  such  as  deserved  the  name,  beyond  mere  loops 
and  arrowslits  ;  but  there,  far  above  the  reach  of  any  scaling, 
ladder,  they  looked  out,  tall  and  shapely,  glimmering  in  the 
summer  sunshine,  in  the  rich  and  gorgeous  hues  of  the 
stained  glass — at  that  time  the  most  recent  and  costly  of 
foreign  luxuries,  opening  on  a  projecting  gallery,  or  bartizan, 
of  curiously-carved  stonework,  which  ran  round  all  the  four 
sides  of  the  building^  and  rendered  the  dwelling  apartments 
of  the  castellan  and  his  family  both  lightsome  and  com 
modious.  One  of  the  tall  turrets,  which  have  been  described, 
contained  the  winding  staircase,  which  gave  access  to  the 
halls  and  guard-rooms  which  occupied  all  the  lower  floors, 
and  to  the  battlements  above,  while  each  of  the  others  con 
tained  sleeping-chambers  of  narrow  dimensions,  on  each  story, 
opening  into  the  larger  apartments. 

This  keep,  with  the  exception  of  the  tall  battlementecl 
flanking  walls,  with  their  esplanades  and  turrets,  and  advanced 
barbican  or  gate-house,  was  the  only  genuine  Norman  portion 
of  the  castle,  and  occupied  the  very  summit  of  the  knoll ; 
but  below  it,  and  for  the  most  part  concealed  and  covered  by 
the  ramparts  on  which  it  abutted,  was  a  long,  low,  roomy 
stone  building,  which  had  been  in  old  times  the  mansion  of 
the  Saxon  thane,  who  had  occupied  the  rich  and  fertile  lands 
of  that  upland  vale,  in  the  happy  days  before  the  advent  of 
the  fierce  and  daring  Normans,  to  whom  he  had  lost  both 
life  and  lands,  and  left  an  empty  name  alone  to  the  inherit 
ance,  which  was  not  to  descend  to  any  of  his  race  or  lineage. 

Below  the  walls,  which  encircled  the  hillock  about  midway 
between  the  base  and  summit,  except  at  one  spot,  where  the 


THE     NORMAN     LORDS.  49 

gate-house  was  thrust  forward  to  the  brink  of  a  large  and 
rapid  brook,  which  had  been  made  by  artificial  means  com 
pletely  to  encircle  the  little  hill,  the  slopes  were  entirely  bare 
of  trees  or  underwood,  every  thing  that  could  possibly  cover 
the  advances  of  an  enemy  being  carefully  cut  down  or  up 
rooted,  and  were  clothed  only  by  a  dense  carpet  of  short,  thick 
greensward,  broidered  with  daisies  pied,  and  silver  lady's 
smocks ;  but  beyond  the  rivulet,  covering  all  the  bottom  of 
the  valley  with  rich  and  verdant  shade,  were  pleasant  orch 
ards  and  coppices,  among  which  peeped  out  the  thatched  roofs 
and  mud  walls  of  the  little  village,  inhabited  by  the  few  free 
laborers,  and  the  more  numerous  thralls  and  land-serfs,  who 
cultivated  the  demesnes  of  the  foreign  noble,  who  possessed 
them  by  right  of  the  sword. 

Through  this  pleasant  little  hamlet,  the  yellow  road,  which 
led  up  to  the  castle,  wound  devious,  passing  in  its  course  by 
an  open  green,  on  which  half  a  dozen  sheep  and  two  or  three 
asses  were  feeding  on  the  short  herbage,  with  a  small  Saxon 
chapel,  distinguished  by  its  low,  round,  wolf-toothed  arch  and 
belfry,  on  the  farther  side ;  and,  in  singular  proximity  to  the 
sacred  edifice,  a  small  space,  inclosed  by  a  palisade,  containing 
a  gallows,  a  whipping-post,  and  a  pair  of  stocks — sad  monu 
ments  of  Saxon  slavery,  and  Norman  tyranny  and  wrong. 

In  one  of  the  upper  chambers  of  the  feudal  keep,  a  small 
square  room,  with  a  vaulted  roof,  springing  from  four  clustered 
columns  in  the  corners,  with  four  groined  ribs,  meeting  in  the 
middle,  from  which  descended  a  long,  curiously-carved  pendant 
of  stone,  terminating  in  a  gilt  iron  candelabrum  of  several 
branches,  two  men  were  seated  at  a  board,  on  which,  though 
the  solid  viands  of  the  mid-day  meal  had  been  removed,  there 

3 


50  SHERWOOD     I1  OREST. 

were  displayed  several  silver  dishes,  with  wastel  bread,  dried 
fruits,  and  light  confections,  as  well  as  two  or  three  tall,  grace 
ful  flasks  of  the  light  fragrant  wines  of  Gascony  and  Anjou, 
and  several  cups  and  tankards  of  richly-chased  and  gilded 
metal,  intermixed  with  several  large-bowled  and  thin- 
stemmed  goblets  of  purple  and  ruby-colored  glass. 

The  room  was  a  very  pleasant  one,  lighted  by  two  tall  win 
dows,  on  two  different  sides,  which  stood  wide  open,  admitting 
the  soft,  balmy,  summer  air,  and  the  fresh  smell  of  the  neigh 
boring  greenwoods,  the  breezy  voice  of  which  came  gently  in, 
whispering  through  the  casement.  The  walls  were  hung 
with  tapestries  of  embossed  and  gilded  Spanish  leather, 
adorned  with  spirited  figures  of  Arab  skirmishers  and  Chris 
tian  chivalry,  engaged  in  the  stirring  game  of  warfare ;  while, 
no  unfit  decoration  for  a  wall  so  covered,  two  or  three  fine 
suits  of  chain  and  plate  armor,  burnished  so  brightly  that  they 
shone  like  silver,  with  their  emblazoned  shields  and  appropri 
ate  weapons,  stood,  like  armed  knights  on  constant  duty,  in 
canopied  niches,  framed  especially  to  receive  them. 

Varlets,  pages,  and  attendants,  had  all  withdrawn ;  and  the 
two  Norman  barons  sat  alone,  sipping  their  wine  in  silence, 
and  apparently  reflecting  on  some  subject  which  they  found  it 
difficult  to  approach  without  offense  or  embarrassment.  At 
last,  the  younger  of  the  two,  Sir  Philip  de  Morville,  after 
drawing  his  open  hand  across  his  fair,  broad  forehead,  as  if  he 
would  have  swept  away  some  cloud  which  gloomed  over  his 
mind,  and  drinking  off  a  deep  goblet  of  wine,  opened  the  con 
versation  with  evident  confusion  and  reluctance. 

"  Well,  well,"  he  said,  "  it  must  out,  Sir  Yvo,  and  though 
it  is  not  very  grateful  to  speak  of  such  things,  I  must  needs  do 


THE     NORMAN     LORDS.  51 

so,  lest  I  appear  to  you  uncourtly  and  ungracious,  in  hesitat 
ing  to  do  to  you,  mine  own  most  tried  and  trusty  friend,  to 
whom  I  owe  no  less  than  my  own  life,  so  small  a  favor  as  the 
granting  liberty  to  one  poor  devil  of  a  Saxon.  I  told  you  I 
would  do  it,  if  I  might ;  yet,  by  my  father's  soul,  I  know  not 
how  to  do  it !" 

"  Where  is  the  rub,  my  friend  ?"  replied  the  other,  kindly. 
"  I  doubt  not,  if  we  put  both  our  heads  together,  we  can  ac 
complish  even  a  greater  thing  than  making  a  free  English 
yeoman  of  a  Saxon  thrall." 

"  I  never  was  rich,  as  you  well  know,  De  Taillebois ;  but  at 
the  time  of  the  king's  late  incursion  into  Wales,  when  I  was 
summoned  to  lead  out  my  power,  I  had  no  choice  but  to 
mortgage  this  my  fortalice,  with  its  demesne  of  Waltheofstow, 
and  all  its  plenishing  and  stock,  castle  and  thralls,  and  crops 
and  fisheries,  to  Abraham  of  Tadcaster,  for  nineteen  thousand 
zecchins,  to  buy  their  outfitting,  horses,  and  armor ;  and  this 
prohibits  me  from  manumitting  this  man,  Kenric,  although  I 
would  do  so  right  willingly,  not  for  that  it  would  pleasure  you 
only,  but  that  he  is  a  faithful  and  an  honest  fellow  for  a  thrall, 
and  right  handy,  both  with  arbalast  and  longbow.  I  know 
not  well  how  to  accomplish  it." 

"Easily,  easily,  Philip,"  answered  Sir  Yvo,  laughing. 
"Never  shall  it  be  said  that  nineteen  thousand  zecchins 
stood  between  Yvo  de  Taillebois  and  his  gratitude ;  besides, 
this  will  shoot  double  game  with  a  single  arrow.  It  will 
relieve  our  trusty  Kenric  from  the  actual  bondage  of  a  corpo 
real  lord  and  master,  and  liberate  my  right  good  friend  and 
brother  in  arms,  Philip  de  Morville,  from  the  more  galling 
spiritual  bondage  of  that  foul  tyrant  and  perilous  oppressor, 


52  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

debt.  Tush !  no  denial,  I  say,"  he  continued,  perceiving  that  Sir 
Philip  was  about  to  make  some  demur ;  "  it  is  a  mere  trifle,  this, 
and  a  matter  of  no  moment.  I  am,  as  you  well  know,  passing 
rich,  what  with  my  rents  in  Westmoreland,  and  my  estates  be 
yond  the  sea.  I  have  even  now  well-nigh  twice  the  sum  that 
you  name,  lying  idle  in  my  bailiff's  hands  at  Kendall,  until  I 
may  find  lands  to  purchase.  It  was  my  intent  to  have  bought 
those  border  lands  of  Clifford's,  that  march  with  my  moor 
lands  on  Hawkshead,  but  it  seems  he  will  not  sell,  and. I  am 
doubly  glad  that  it  gives  me  the  occasion  to  serve  you.  I  will 
direct  my  bailiff  at  once  to  take  horse  for  Tadcaster  and  re 
deem  your  mortgage,  and  you  can  take  your  own  time  and 
pleasure  to  repay  it.  There  is  no  risk,  Heaven  knows,  for 
Waltheofstow  is  well  worth  nineteen  thousand  zecchins  three 
times  told,  and,  in  lieu  of  usance  money,  you  shall  transfer  the 
man  Kenric  from  thee  and  thine  to  me  and  mine,  forever.  So 
shall  my  gratitude  be  preserved  intact,  and  my  pretty  Guen- 
dolen  have  her  fond  fancy  gratified." 

"  Be  it  so,  then,  in  God's  name  ;  and  by  my  faith  I  thank 
you  for  the  loan  right  heartily ;  for,  on  mine  honor !  that 
same  blood-sucker  of  Israel  hath  pumped  me  like  the  veriest 
horse-leech,  these  last  twelve  months,  and  I  know  not  but  I 
should  have  had  to  sell,  after  all.  We  must  have  Kenric's 
consent,  however,  that  all  may  be  in  form ;  for  he  is  no  com 
mon  thrall,  but  a  serf  of  the  soil,  and  may  not  be  removed 
from  it,  nor  manumitted  even,  save  with  his  own  free  will." 

"  Who  ever  heard  of  a  serf  refusing  to  bo  free,  more  than 
of  a  Jew  not  loving  ducats?  My  life  on  it,' he  will  not  be 
slow  to  consent !" 

"  I  trow  not,  I  trow  not,  De  Taillebois,  but  let  us  set  about 


THE     NOR  MAN     LORDS.  53 

it  presently ;  a  good  deed  can  not  well  be  done  too  quickly. 
You  pass  the  wine  cup,  too,  I  notice.  Let  us  take  cap  and 
cloak,  and  stroll  down  into  the  hamlet  yonder  ;  it  is  a  pleasant 
ramble  in  the  cool  afternoon,  and  we  can  see  him  in  his  den  ; 
he  will  be  scant  of  wind,  I  trow,  and  little  fit  to  climb  the  cas 
tle  hill  this  evensong,  after  the  battering  he  received  from  that 
stout  forester.  But  freedom  will  be  a  royal  salve,  I  warrant 
me,  for  his  worst  bruises.  Shall  we  go  ?" 

"  "Willingly,  willingly.  I  would  have  it  to  tell  Guendolen 
at  her  wakening.  'T  will  be  a  cure  to  her  also.  She  is  a  ten 
der-hearted  child  ever,  and  was  so  from  her  cradle.  Why,  I 
have  known  her  cry  like  the  lady  Niobe,  that  the  prior  of  St. 
Albans  told  us  of — who  wept  till  she  was  changed  into  a  drip 
ping  fountain,  when  blessed  St.  Michael  and  St.  George  slew 
all  her  tribe  of  children,  for  that  she  likened  herself,  in  her 
vain  pride  of  beauty,  to  the  most  holy  virgin  mother,  St.  Mary 
of  Sienna — at  the  killing  of  a  deer  by  a  stray  shaft,  that  had 
a  suckling  fawn  beside  her  foot ;  and  when  I  caused  them  to 
imprison  Wufgitha,  that  was  her  nurse's  daughter,  for  selling 
of  a  hundred  pounds  of  flax  that  was  given  her  to  spin,  she 
took  sick,  and  kept  to  her  bed  two  days  and  more,  all  for  that 
she  fancied  the  wench  would  pine ;  though  her  prison-house 
was  the  airiest  and  most  lightsome  turret  chamber  in  my 
house  at  Kendal,  and  she  was  not  in  gyves  nor  on  prison  diet. 
Faith  !  I  had  no  peace  with  her,  till  I  gave  the  whole  guidance 
of  the  women  into  her  hands.  They  are  all  ladies  since  that 
day  at  Kendal,  or  next  akin  to  it." 

"  Over  god's  forbode  !"  answered  Philip,  laughing.  "  It 
must  have  been  a  black  day  for  your  seneschal.  How  rules  he 
your  warders,  since  ?  My  fellow,  Hundibert,  swears  that  the 


54  SHERWOODFOREST. 

girls  need  more  watching  than  the  laziest  swine  in  the  whole 
Saxon  herd.  But  come  ;  let  us  be  moving." 

With  that  they  descended  the  winding  stone  stairway  into 
the  great  hall  or  guard-room,  which  occupied  the  whole  of 
one  floor  of  the  castle — a  noble  vaulted  room,  stone-arched 
and  stone-paved,  its  walls  hung  with  splendid  arms  and  well- 
used  weapons, 

"  Old  swords,  and  pikes,  and  bows, 

And  good  old  shields,  and  targets,  that  had  borne  some  stout  old 
blows." 

Thence,  through  an  echoing  archway,  above  which  in  its 
grooves  of  stone  hung  the  steel-clinched  portcullis,  and  down 
a  steep  and  almost  precipitous  flight  of  steps,  without  any  rail 
or  breastwork,  they  reached  the  large  court-yard,  where  some 
of  the  retainers  were  engaged  in  trying  feats  of  strength  and 
skill,  throwing  the  hammer,  wrestling,  or  shooting  with  arba- 
lasts  at  a  mark,  while  others  were  playing  at  games -of  chance 
in  a  cool  shadowy  angle  of  the  walls,  moistening  their  occu 
pation  with  an  occasional  pull  at  a  deep,  black  tankard,  which 
stood  beside  them  on  the  board. 

After  tarrying  a  few  minutes  in  the  court,  observing  the 
wrestlers  and  cross-bowmen,  and  throwing  in  an  occasional 
word  of  good-humored  encouragement  at  any  good  shot  or 
happy  fall,  the  lords  passed  the  drawbridge,  which  was  lower 
ed,  giving  access  to  the  pleasant  country,  over  which  the 
warder  was  gazing  half-wistfully,  and  watching  a  group  of 
pretty  girls,  who  were  washing  clothes  in  the  brook  at  about 
half  a  mile's  distance,  laughing  as  merrily  and  singing  as 
tunefully  as  though  they  had  been  free  maidens  of  gentle 
Norman  lineage,  instead  of  contemned  and  outlawed  Saxons, 


THE    NORMAN    LORDS.  55 

the  children,  and  the  wives  and  mothers  of  slaves  and  bond 
men  in  the  to  be  hereafter. 

"  Hollo  !  old  Stephen,"  cried  the  Knight  of  Morville,  gayly, 
as  he  passed  the  stout  dependant ;  "  I  thought  thou  wert  too 
resolute  a  bachelor  to  cast  a  sheep's-eye  on  the  lasses,  and  too 
thorough-paced  a  Norman  to  let  the  prettiest  Saxon  of  them 
all  find  favor  in  your  sight." 

"  I  don't  know,  sir ;  I  don't  know  that,"  answered  the  man, 
with  a  grin,  half-bashfully,  and  between  bantering  and  earnest. 
"  There  's  little  Edith  down  yonder  ;  and,  bond  or  free,  there 's 
not  a  girl  about  the  castle,  or  within  ten  miles  of  it,  for  that 
matter,  that  has  got  an  eye  to  come  near  those  blue  sparklers 
of  her's ;  and  as  for  her  voice,  when  she 's  singing,  it  would 
wile  the  birds  out  of  heaven,  let  alone  the  wits  of  a  poor 
soldier's  brain-pan.  Hark  to  her  now,  Sir  Philip.  Sang 
ever  nightingale  so  sweetly  as  yon  trill,  Sir  Knight  ?" 

"  Win.  her,  Stephen.  Win  her,  I  '11  grant  you  my  permis 
sion,  for  your  paramour  ;  and  if  you  do,  I  '11  give  her  to  you 
for  your  own.  I  owe  you  a  boon  of  some  sort,  for  that  serv 
ice  you  did  me  when  you  knocked  that  Welch  churl  on  the 
head,  who  would  have  driven  his  long  knife  into  my  ribs,  that 
time  I  was  dismounted  in  the  pass  near  Dunmailraise.  Win 
her,  therefore,  if  you  may,  Stephen,  and  yours  she  shall  be, 
as  surely  and  as  steadfastly  as  though  she  were  the  captive  of 
your  spear." 

"  Small  chance,  Sir  Philip,"  replied  the  man,  slowly  ;  "  all 
thanks  to  you,  natheless.  But  she  's  troth-plighted  to  that 
tall,  well-made  fellow,  Kenric,  they  say,  that  saved  the  lady 
Guendolen  from  the  stag  this  morning.  They'll  be  asking 
your  consent  to  the  wedding  and  the  bedding,  one  of  these 


56  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

days,  Beausire.     To-morrow,  as  like  as  not,  seeing  this  feat 

of  the  good  youth's  will  furnish  forth  a  sort  of  plea  for  the 

asking  of  a  favor." 

"  That  will  not  much  concern  you,  warder,"  said  Sir  Yvo. 

"  Your  rival  will  be  out  of  your  way  shortly.     I  have  asked 

his  freedom  but  now  of  Sir  Philip,  and  shall  have  him  away 

with  me  the  next  week,  to  the  North  country." 

"  I  don't  know  that  will  do  me  much  good.     They  say  she 

loves  him  parlously,  and  he  her ;  and  she  ever  looks  coldly 

on  me." 

"  A  little  perseverance  is  a  certain  remedy  for  cold  looks, 

Stephen.     So,  don't  be  down-hearted.     You  will  have  a  clear 

field  soon." 

"  I  am  not  so  sure  of  that,  sir.     I  should  not  wonder  if  he 

refused  to  go." 

"  Refused  to  go — to  be  free — to  be  his  own  master,  and  a 

thrall  and  slave  no  longer  !" 

"  Who  can  tell,  sir  ?"  answered  the  man.  "  Saxon  or  Nor 
man,  bond  or  free,  we  're  all  men,  after  all ;  and  women  have 
made  fools  of  us  all,  since  the  days  of  Sir  Adam  in  Paradise, 
and  will,  I  fancy,  to  the  end  of  all  time.  I  'd  do  and  suffer 
a  good  deal  myself  to  win  such  a  look  out  of  Edith's  blue 
eyes,  as  I  saw  her  give  yon  Saxon  churl,  when  he  came  to 
after  we  had  thrown  cold  water  on  him.  And,  after  all,  if 
Sir  Hercules,  of  Greece,  made  a  slave  of  himself,  and  a  she- 
slave,  too,  as  that  wandering  minstrel  sang  to  us  in  the  hall 
the  other  day,  all  to  win  the  love  of  the  beautiful  Sultana, 
Omphale,  I  don't  see,  for  myself,  why  a  Saxon  serf,  that 's 
been  a  serf  all  his  life,  and  got  pretty  well  used  to  it  by  this 
time,  should  n't  stay  a  serf  all  the  rest  of  it,  to  keep  the  love 


THE     NORMAN     LORDS.  57 

of  Edith,  who  is  prettier  a  precious  sight  than  the  fair  Turk, 
Omphale,  I'll  warrant.  I  don't  know  but  what  I  would 
myself." 

"  Pshaw !  Stephen ;  that  smacks  Norman — smacks  of  the 
gai  science,  chivalry,  sentiment,  and  fine  high  romance.  You  '11 
never  see  a  Saxon  sing  '  all  for  love,'  I  '11  warrant  you." 

"  Well,  sir,  well.  We  shall  see.  A  Saxon 's  a  man,  as  I 
said  before ;  and  a  Saxon  in  love  is  a  man  in  love ;  and  a 
man  in  love  is  n't  a  man  in  his  senses  any  more  than  Sir 
Hercules  of  Greece  was,  and  when  a  Saxon 's  in  love,  and  out 
of  his  senses,  there 's  no  saying  what  he  '11  do ;  only  one  may 
guess  it  will  be  nothing  over  wise.  And  so,  as  I  said  before, 
I  should  not  wonder  if  Kenric  should  not  part  with  collar, 
thong,  and  shackles,  if  he  must  needs  part  too  with  little 
Edith  the  Fair.  I  would  not,  any  wise,  if  I  were  he,  Beausire." 


CHAPTER    V. 

THE    SERF'S    QUARTER. 

"As  they  sat  in  Englyshe  wood, 

Under  the  grccnwode  tree, 
They  thought  they  heard  a  woman  wepe, 
But  her  they  mought  not  see." 

ADAM  BELL,  ETC. 

LEAVING  the  warder  lounging  listlessly  at  his  post,  as  in  a 
well-settled  district  and  in  "  piping  times  of  peace,"  with  no 
feudal  enemies  at  hand,  and  no  outlaws  in  the  vicinity,  none 
at  least  so  numerous  as  to  render  any  guard  necessary,  except 
as  a  matter  of  dignity  and  decorum,  the  two  knights  strolled 
down  the  sandy  lane  toward  the  village,  or  quarter  of  the  serfs ; 
who  were  not  admitted  generally  to  reside  within  the  walls, 
partly  as  a  precaution,  lest,  in  case  of  some  national  affray, 
they  might  so  far  outnumber  the  Norman  men-at-arms  as  to 
become  dangerous,  partly  because  they  were  not  deemed  fit 
ting  associates  for  the  meanest  of  the  feudal  servitors. 

The  two  gentlemen  in  question  were  excellent  specimens  of 
the  Norman  baron  of  the  day,  without,  however,  being  heroes 
or  geniuses,  or  in  any  particular — except  perhaps  for  good 
temper  and  the  lack  of  especial  temptation  toward  evil — man 
ifestly  superior  to  others  of  their  class,  caste,  and  period. 
Neither  of  them  was  in  any  respect  a  tyrant,  individually 


59 

cruel,  or  intentionally  an  oppressor ;  but  both  were,  as  every 
one  of  us  is  at  this  day,  used  to  look  at  things  as  we  find 
them,  through  our  own  glasses,  and  to  seek  rather  for  what  is 
the  custom,  than  for  what  is  right,  and  therefore  ought  to  be ; 
for  what  it  suits  us,  and  is  permitted  to  us  by  law  to  do  to 
others,  than  for  what  we  should  desire  others  to  do  unto  us. 

Reckless  of  life  themselves,  brought  up  from  their  cradles  to 
regard  pain  as  a  thing  below  consideration,  and  death  as  a  thing 
to  be  risked  daily,  they  were  not  like  to  pay  much  regard  to 
the  mere  physical  sufferings  of  others,  or  to  set  human  life  at 
a  value,  such  as  to  render  it  worth  the  preserving,  when  great 
stakes  were  to  be  won  or  lost  on  its  hazard.  Accustomed  to 
set  their  own  lives  on  the  die,  for  the  most  fantastic  whim  of 
honor,  or  at  the  first  call  of  their  feudal  suzerains,  accustomed 
to  see  their  Norman  vassals  fall  under  shield,  and  deem  such 
death  honorable  and  joyous,  at  their  own  slightest  bidding, 
how  should  they  have  thought  much  of  the  life,  far  more  of 
the  physical  or  mental  sufferings,  of  the  Saxon  serf,  whom 
they  had  found,  on  their  arrival  in  their  newly-conquered 
England,  a  thing  debased  below  the  value,  in  current  coin,  of 
an  ox,  a  dog,  or  a  war-horse — a  thing,  the  taking  of  whose 
life  was  compensated  by  a  trivial  fine,  and  whom  they  natu 
rally  came  to  regard  as  a  dull,  soulless,  inanimate,  stupid 
senseless  animal,  with  the  passions  only,  but  without  the  in 
tellect  of  the  man.  Of  the  two  barons,  Sir  Yvo  de  Taillebois 
was  the  superior,  both  in  intellect  and  culture ;  he  was  in  easy 
circumstances  also,  while  his  far  younger  friend,  Sir  Philip  de 
Morville,  was  embarrassed  by  the  res  angusta  domi,  and  by 
the  importunity  of  relentless  creditors,  which  often  drives 
men  to  do,  as  well  as  to  suffer,  extremes. 


60  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

It  was  no  hardness  of  nature  or  cruelty  of  disposition, 
therefore,  which  led  either  of  these  noble  men — for  they  were 
noble,  not  in  birth  only,  but  in  sentiment  and  soul,  according 
to  the  notions  of  their  age,  which  were  necessarily  their  no 
tions,  and  to  the  lights  vouchsafed  to  them — to  speak  concern 
ing  the  Saxon  serfs,  and  act  toward  them,  ever  as  if  they 
were  beasts  of  burden,  worthy  of  care,  kindness,  and  some 
degree  of  physical  consideration,  rather  than  like  men,  as 
themselves,  endowed  with  hearts  to  feel  and  souls  to  compre 
hend.  Had  they  been  other  .than  they  were,  they  had  been 
monsters  ;  as  it  was,  they  were  excellent  men,  as  men  went 
then,  and  go  now,  fully  up  to  the  spirit  of  their  own  times, 
and  to  the  strain  of  morality  and  justice  understood  thereby, 
but  not  one  whit  above  it.  Therefore,  Sir  Yvo  de  Taillebois, 
finding  himself  indebted  for  his  daughter's  life  to  the  hardi 
hood  and  courage  of  the  Saxon  serf,  whom  he  regarded  much 
as  he  would  have  done  his  charger  or  his  hound,  desired,  as  a 
point  of  honor,  rather  than  of  gratitude,  to  secure  to  the  serf 
an  indemnity  from  toil,  punishment,  or  want,  during  the  rest 
of  his  life,  just  as  he  would  have  assigned  a  stall,  with  free 
rack  and  manger,  to  the  superannuated  charger  which  had 
saved  his  own  life  in  battle ;  or  given  the  run  of  kitchen,  but 
tery,  and  hall,  to  the  hound  which  had  run  the  foremost  of  his 
pack.  The  sensibilities  of  the  Saxon  were  as  incomprehensi 
ble  to  him  as  those  of  the  charger  or  the  staghound,  and  he 
thought  no  more  of  considering  him  in  his  social  or  family  re 
lations,  than  the  animals  to  which,  in,  some  sort,  he  likened 
him. 

He  would  not,  it  is  true,  if  asked  as  a  philosophical  truth, 
whether  the  life  of  a  Saxon  serf  and  of  an  Andalusian  charg- 


THE    SERF'S   QUARTER.  61 

er  were  equivalent,  have  replied  in  the  affirmative ;  for  he  was, 
according  to  his  lights,  a  Christian,  and  knew  that  a  Saxon 
had  a  soul  to  be  saved ;  nor  would  he  have  answered,  that  the 
colt  of  the  high-bred  mare,  or  the  whelp  of  the  generous 
brach,  stood  exactly  in  the  same  relation  as  the  child  of  the 
serf  to  its  human  parent ;  but  use  had  much  deadened  his 
perceptions  to  the  distinction ;  and  the  impassive  and  stolid 
insensibility  of  the  Saxon  race,  imbruted  and  degraded  by  ages 
of  serfdom,  caused  him  to  overlook  the  faint  and  rarely  seen 
displays  of  human  sensibilities,  which  would  have  led  him  less 
to  undervalue  the  sense  and  sentiment  of  his  helpless  fellow- 
countrymen.  As  it  was,  he  would  as  soon  have  expected  his 
favorite  charger  or  best  brood  mare  to  pine  hopelessly,  and 
grieve  as  one  who  could  not  be  consoled,  at  being  liberated 
from  spur  and  saddle,  and  turned  out  to  graze  at  liberty  for 
ever  in  a  free  and  fertile  pasture,  while  its  colts  should  remain 
in  life-long  bondage,  as  he  would  have  supposed  it  possible  for 
the  Saxon  serf  to  be  affected  beyond  consolation  by  the  death, 
the  deportation,  or  the  disasters  of  his  family. 

Nor,  again,  did  he  regard  liberty  or  servitude  in  an  abstract 
sense,  apart  from  ideas  of  incarceration,  torture,  or  extreme 
privation,  as  great  and  inherent  right  or  wrong. 

The  serf  owed  him  absolute  service ;  the  free  laborer,  or 
villeyn,  service,  in  some  sort,  less  absolute ;  his  vassals,  man- 
service,  according  to  their  degree,  either  in  the  field  of  daily 
labor,  the  hunting-field,  or  the  battle-field  ;  he  himself  owed 
service  to  his  suzerain  ;  his  suzerain  to  the  King.  It  was  all 
service,  and  the  difference  was  but  in  the  degree  ;  and  if  the 
service  of  the  serf  was  degraded,  it  was  a  usual,  a  habitual  deg 
radation,  to  which,  it  might  be  presumed,  he  was  so  well  ac- 


62  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

customed,  that  he  felt  it  not  more  than  the  charger  his  derni- 
pique,  or  the  hawk  his  bells  and  jesses  ;  and,  for  the  most  part, 
he  did  not  feel  it  more,  nor  regret  it,  nor  know  the  lack  of  liber 
ty,  save  as  connected  with  the  absence  of  the  fetters  or  the  lash. 

And  this,  indeed,  is  the  great  real  evil  of  slavery,  whereso 
ever  and  under  whatsoever  form  it  exists,  that  it  is  not  more, 
but  less,  hurtful  to  the  slave  than  to  the  master,  and  that  its  ill 
effects  are  in  a  much  higher  and  more  painful  degree  intellectual 
than  physical ;  that,  while  it  degrades  and  lowers  the  inferiors 
almost  to  the  level  of  mere  brutes,  through  the  consciousness 
of  degradation,  the  absence  of  all  hope  to  rise  in  the  scale  of 
manhood,  and  the  lack  of  every  stimulus  to  ambition  or  exer 
tion,  it  hardens  the  heart,  and  deadens  the  sensibilities  of  the 
master,  and  renders  him,  through  the  strange  power  of  cir 
cumstance  and  custom,  blind  to  the  existence  of  wrongs, 
sufferings,  and  sorrows,  at  the  mere  narration  of  which,  under 
a  different  phase  of  things,  his  blood  would  boil  with  indigna 
tion. 

Such,  then,  was  in  some  considerable  degree,  the  state  of 
mind,  arising  from  habit  and  acquaintance  with  the  constitu 
tion  of  freedom  and  slavery,  intermingled  every  where  in  the 
then  world,  any  thing  to  the  contrary  of  which  they  had 
never  seen  nor  even  heard  of,  in  which  the  two  Norman  lords 
took  their  way  down  the  village  street,  if  it  could  be  so  called, 
being  a  mere  sandy  tract,  passable  only  to  horsemen,  or  carts 
and  vehicles  of  the  very  rudest  construction,  unarmed,  except 
with  their  heavy  swords,  and  wholly  unattended,  on  an  errand, 
as  they  intended,  of  liberality  and  mercy. 

The  quarter  of  the  serfs  of  Sir  Philip  de  Morville  was,  for 
the  most  part,  very  superior  to  the  miserable  collection  of 


63 

huts,  liker  to  dog-houses  than  to  any  human  habitation,  which 
generally  constituted  the  dwellings  of  this  forlorn  and  miser 
able  race  ;  for  the  knight  was,  as  it  has  been  stated,  an  even- 
tempered  and  good-natured,  though  common-place  man  ;  and 
being  endowed  with  rather  an  uncommon  regard  for  order 
and  taste  for  the  picturesque,  he  consequently  looked  more 
than  usual  to  the  comfort  of  his  serfs,  both  in  allotting  them 
small  plots  of  garden-ground  and  orchards,  and  in  bestowing 
on  them  building  materials  of  superior  quality  and  appear 
ance. 

All  the  huts,  therefore,  rudely  framed  of  oak  beams,  having 
the  interstices  filled  in  with  a  cement  of  clay  and  ruddle,  with 
thatched  roofs  and  wooden  lattices  instead  of  windows,  were 
whole,  and  for  the  most  part  weather-proof.  Many  of  the  in 
habitants  had  made  porches,  covered  with  natural  wild  run 
ners,  as  the  woodbine  and  sweet-brier ;  all  had  made  gardens 
in  front,  which  they  might  cultivate  in  their  hours  of  leisure, 
when  the  day's  task-work  should  be  done,  and  which  displayed 
evidently  enough,  by  their  orderly  or  slovenly  culture,  the 
character  and  disposition  of  their  occupants. 

The  few  men  whom  the  lords  met  on  their  way,  mostly 
driving  up  beasts  laden  with  fire-wood  or  forage  to  the  cattle, 
for  the  day  was  not  yet  far  spent,  nor  the  hours  devoted  to 
toil  well-nigh  passed,  were  hale,  strong,  sturdy  varlets,  in  good 
physical  condition,  strong-limbed,  and  giving  plentiful  evi 
dences  in  their  appearance  of  ample  coarse  subsistence  ;  they 
were  well-dressed,  moreover,  although  in  the  plainest  and 
coarsest  habiliments,  made,  for  the  most  part,  of  the  tanned 
hides  of  beasts  with  the  hair  outward,  or  in  some  cases  of 
cheap  buff  leather,  their  feet  protected  by  clumsy  home-made 


64  SHE  11  WOOD     FOREST. 

sandals,  and  their  heads  uncovered,  save  by  the  thick  and 
matted  elf-locks  of  their  unkempt  and  dingy  hair. 

They  louted  low  as  their  lord  passed  them  by,  but  no  gleam 
of  recognition,  much  less  any  smile  of  respectful  greeting, 
such  as  passes  between  the  honored  superior  and  the  valued 
servant,  played  over  their  stolid  and  heavy  countenance,  be 
grimed  for  the  most  part  with  filth,  and  half-covered  with 
disordered  beards  and  unshorn  mustaches. 

Neither  in  form,  motion,  nor  attire,  did  they  show  any 
symptom  of  misusage  ;  there  were  no  scars,  as  of  the  stripes, 
the  stocks,  or  the  fetters,  on  their  bare  arms  and  legs ;  they 
were  in  good  physical  condition,  well-fed,  warmly-lodged, 
sufficiently-clad — perhaps  in  the  best  possible  condition  for 
the  endurance  of  continuous  labor,  and  the  performance  of 
works  requiring  strength  and  patience,  rather  than  agility  or 
energetic  exertion. 

But  so  also  were  the  mules,  oxen,  or  horses,  which  they 
were  employed ,  in  driving,  and  which,  in  all  these  respects, 
were  fully  equal  to  their  drivers,  while  they  had  this  manifest 
advantage  over  them,  that  they  were  rubbed  down  and  curry- 
combed,  and  cleaned,  and  showed  their  hides  glossy  and  sleek, 
and  their  manes  free  from  scurf  and  burrs,  which  is  far  more 
than  could  be  stated  of  their  human  companions,  who  looked 
for  the  most  part  as  if  their  tanned  and  swart  complexions 
were  as  innocent  of  water  as  were  their  beards  and  elf-locks 
of  brush  or  currycomb. 

In  addition,  however,  to  their  grim  and  sordid  aspect,  and 
their  evident  ignorance,  or  carelessness,  of  their  base  appear 
ance,  there  was  a  dull,  sullen,  dogged  expression  on  all  their 
f;lces — a  iook  not  despairing,  nor  even  sorrowful,  but  perfectly 


THE   SERF'S   QUARTER.  65 

impassive,  as  if  they  had  nothing  to  hope  for,  or  regret,  or 
fear ;  the  look  of  a  caged  bear,  wearied  and  fattened  out  of 
his  fierceness,  not  tamed,  civilized,  or  controlled  by  any  human 
teaching. 

The  stature  and  bearing,  even  of  the  freeborn  and  noble 
Saxon,  in  the  day  when  his  fair  isle  of  Albion  was  his  own, 
and  he  trod  the  soil  its  proud  proprietor,  had  never  been  re 
markable  for  its  beauty,  grace,  or  dignity.  He  was,  for  the 
most  part,  short,  thick-set,  sturdy-limbed,  bull-necked,  bullet- 
headed  ;  a  man  framed  more  for  hardihood,  endurance,  obsti 
nate  resolve,  indomitable  patience  to  resist,  than  for  vivid 
energy,  brilliant  impulsive  vigor,  or  ardor,  whether  intellectual 
or  physical ;  but  these  men,  though  they  neither  lounged  nor 
lagged  behind,  plodded  along  with  a  heavy,  listless  gait,  their 
frowning  brows  turned  earthward,  their  dull  gray  eyes  rolling 
beneath  their  light  lashes,  meaningless  and  spiritless,  and  the 
same  scowl  on  every  gloomy  face. 

The  younger  women,  a  few  of  whom  were  seen  about  the 
doors  or  gardens,  busied  in  churning  butter,  making  cheese,  or 
performing  other  duties  of  the  farm  and  dairy,  were  some 
what  more  neatly,  and,  in  some  few  cases,  even  tastefully  at 
tired.  Some  were  of  rare  beauty,  with  a  profusion  of  auburn, 
light  brown,  or  flaxen  hair,  bright  rosy  complexions,  large  blue 
eyes,  and  voluptuous  figures ;  and  these  bore  certainly  a  more 
cheerful  aspect,  as  the  nature  of  woman  is  more  hopeful  than 
that  of  man,  and  a  more  gentle  mood  than  their  fellows  ;  yet 
there  were  no  songs  enlivening  their  moments  of  rest  or  alle 
viating  their  hours  of  toil — no  jests,  no  romping,  as  we  are 
wont  to  see  among  young  girls  of  tender  years,  occupied  in 
the  lighter  and  more  feminine  occupations  of  agricultural  life. 


66  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

Some  one  or  two  of  these,  indeed,  smiled  as  they  courtesied 
to  their  lord,  but  the  smile  was  wan  and  somewhat  sickly,  nor 
seemed  to  come  from  the  heart;  it  gave  no  pleasure,  one 
would  say,  to  her  who  gave — no  pleasure  to  him  who  re 
ceived  it. 

The  little  children,  however,  who  tumbled  about  in  the  dust, 
or  built  mud-houses  by  the  puddles  in  the  road,  were  the  sad 
dest  sight  of  all.  Half-naked,  sturdy-limbed,  filthy  little  sav 
ages,  utterly  untaught  and  untamed,  scarcely  capable  of  mak 
ing  themselves  understood,  even  in  their  own  rude  dialect; 
wild-eyed,  and  fierce  or  sullen-looking  as  it  might,  subject  to 
no  control  or  correction,  receiving  no  education,  no  culture 
whatsoever — not  so  much  even  as  the  colt,  which  is  broken 
at  least  to  the  menage,  or  the  hound-puppy,  which  is  entered 
at  the  quarry  which  he  is  to  chase ;  ignorant  of  every  moral 
or  divine  truth — ignorant  even  that  each  one  of  them  was  the 
possessor  of  a  mortal  body,  far  more  of  an  immortal  soul ! 

But  not  a  thought  of  these  things  ever  crossed  the  mind  of 
the  stately  and  puissant  Normans.  No  impression  such  as 
these,  which  must  needs  now  strike  home  to  the  soul  of  every 
chance  beholder,  had  ever  been  made  on  their  imaginations, 
by  the  sight  of  things,  which,  seeing  every  day,  they  had  come 
to  consider  only  as  things  which  were  customary,  and  were, 
therefore,  right  and  proper — not  the  exception  even  to  the 
rule,  but  the  rule  without  exception. 

So  differently,  indeed,  did  the  circumstances  above  related 
strike  Sir  Yvo  de  Taillebois,  that  he  even  complimented  his 
friend  on  the  general  comfort  of  his  villcnage,  and  the  admi 
rable  condition  of  his  people,  the  air  of  capacity  of  his  men, 
and  the  beauty  of  his  women ;  nay !  he  commented  even  upon 


THE   SERF'S   QUARTER.  67 

the  pluinp  forms  and  brawny  muscles  of  the  young  savages, 
•who  fled  diverse  from  before  their  footsteps,  shrieking  and  terri 
fied  at  the  lordly  port  and  resounding  strides  of  their  masters,  as 
indicative  of  their  future  strength,  and  probable  size  and  stature. 

And  Philip  replied,  laughing,  "  Ay !  ay !  they  are  a  stout 
and  burly  set  of  knaves  and  good  workers  on  the  main.  The 
hinges  of  the  stocks  are  rusted  hard  for  want  of  use,  and  the 
whipping-post  has  not  heard  the  crack  of  the  boar's  hide  these 
two  years  or  better ;  but  then  I  work  them  lightly  and  feed 
them  roundly,  and  I  find  that  they  do  me  the  more  work  for 
it,  and  the  better ;  besides,  the  food  they  consume  is  all  of 
their  own  producing,  and  I  have  no  use  for  it.  They  raise  me 
twice  as  much  now  as  I  can  expend,  on  this  manor.  Now 
I  work  my  folk  but  ten  hours  to  the  day,  and  give  them 
meat,  milk,  and  cheese,  daily,  and  have  not  flogged  a  man 
since  Martinmas  two  twelvemonths ;  and  I  have  thrice  the 
profit  of  them  that  my  friend  and  neighbor,  Reginald  Maltra- 
vers,  has,  though  his  thralls  toil  from  matin  to  curfew,  with 
three  lenten  days  to  the  week,  and  the  thong  ever  sounding. 
It  is  bad  policy,  I  say,  to  over-do  the  work  or  under-do  the 
feeding.  Besides,  poor  devils,  they  have  not  much  fun  in  life, 
and  if  you  fill  their  bellies,  you  fill  them  with  all  the  pleasure 
and  contentment  they  are  capable  of  knowing.  But,  hold ! 
here  is  Kenric's  home — the  best  cabin  in  the  quarter,  as  the 
owner  is  the  best  man.  Let  us  go  in." 

"  And  carry  him  a  welcome  cure  for  his  aching  bones," 
said  Sir  Yvo,  as  they  entered  the  little  gate  of  a  pretty  gar 
den,  which  stretched  from  the  door  down  to  a  reach  of  the 
winding  stream,  overshadowed  by  several  large  and  handsome 
willmvs.  "  By  my  faith !  he  must  needs  be  a  good  man," 


68  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

resumed  the  speaker — "  why,  it  is  as  neat  as  a  thane's  manor, 
and  neater,  too,  than  many  I  have  seen." 

But  as  he  spoke,  the  shrill  and  doleful  wail  of  women  came 
from  the  porch  of  the  house.  "  Ah,  well-a-day  !  ah,  well-a- 
day !  that  I  should  live  to  see  it.  Soul  of  my  soul,  Kenric, 
my  first-born  and  my  best  one — thou  first  borne  in,  almost  a 
corpse ;  and  then,  my  darling  and  delight — my  fair-haired 
Edgar's  son  dead  of  this  doleful  fever.  Ah,  well-a-day !  ah, 
well-a-day  !  Would  God  that  I  were  dead  also,  most  miser 
able  that  I  am,  of  women  !" 

And  then  the  manly  voice  of  Kenric  replied,  but  faint  for 
his  wounds  and  wavering  for  the  loss  of  blood ;  "  Wail  not 
for  me,  mother,"  he  said ;  "  wail  not  for"  me,  for  I  am  strong 
yet,  and  like  to  live  this  many  a  day — until  thy  toils  are  ended, 
and  then  God  do  to  me  as  seems  him  good.  But,  above  all,  I 
say  to  thee,  wail  not  for  Adhemar  the  white-haired.  His 
weakness  and  his  innocence  are  over,  here  on  earth.  He  has 
never  known  the  collar  or  the  gyves — has  never  felt  how  bitter 
and  how  hard  a  thing  it  is  to  be  the  slave  of  the  best  earthly 
master  !  His  dream — his  fever-dream  of  life  is  over ;  he  is 
free  from  yoke  and  chain ;  he  has  awoken  out  of  human 
servitude,  to  be  the  slave  of  the  everlasting  God,  whose  strict 
est  slavery  is  perfect  liberty  and  perfect  love. 

But  still  the  woman  wailed — "  Ah,  well-a-day  !  ah,  well-a- 
day  !  woiTld  God  that  I  were  dead,  most  miserable  of  mothers 
that  I  am !" 

And  the  Norman  barons  stood  unseen  and  silent,  smitten 
into  dumbness  before  the  regal  majesty  of  the  slave's  maternal 
sorrow,  perhaps  awakened  to  some  dim  vision  of  the  truth,  which 
never  had  dawned  on  them  until  that  day,  in  the  serf's  quarter. 


CHAPTER   VI. 

THE     SAXON'S     CONSTANCY. 

"  And  I'll  be  true  to  tliee,  Mary, 

As  thou'lt  be  true  to  me; 
And  I  never  will  leave  thee,  never,  Mary, 

As  slave  man  or  as  free; 
For  we're  bound  forever  and  ever,  Mary, 

Till  death  snail  set  us  free- 
Free  from  the  chain  of  the  flesh,  Mary, 

Free  from  the  devil's  chain- 
Free  from  the  collar  and  gyves,  Mary, 

And  slavery's  cursed  pain ; 
And  then,  when  we  're  free  in  heaven,  Mary, 

We  '11  pray  to  be  bound  again." 

OLD  ENGLISH  SONG. 

IT  was  with  grave  and  somewhat  downcast  brows,  and 
nothing  of  haughtiness  or  pride  of  port  or  demeanor,  that  the 
lord  and  his  friend  entered  under  the  lowly  roof,  invested  for 
the  moment  with  a  majesty  which  was  not  its  own,  by  the 
strange  sacredness  of  grief  and  death. 

There  never  probably,  in  the  whole  history  of  the  world, 
has  been  a  race  of  men,  which  entertained  in  their  own  per 
sons  a  more  boundless  contempt  of  death,  or  assigned  less 
value  to  the  mere  quality  of  life,  than  the  warlike  Normans. 
Not  a  man  of  them,  while  in  the  heyday  of  life  and  manhood, 
would  have  hesitated  for  a  moment  in  choosing  a  death 
under  shield,  a  death  of  violence  and  anguish,  winning  re- 


70  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

nown  and  conferring  deathless  honor,  to  the  gentlest  decay, 
the  most  peaceful  dissolution.  Not  a  man  would  have  shed 
a  tear,  or  shown  a  sign  of  sorrow,  had  he  seen  his  favorite 
son,  his  most  familiar  friend,  his  noblest  brother  in  arms, 
felled  from  his  saddle  in  the  melee,  and  trampled  out  of 
the  very  form  of  humanity  beneath  the  hoofs  of  the  charging 
cavalry.  Not  a  man  but  would  have  ridden  over  a  battle 
field,  gorged  with  carcasses  and  drunk  with  gore,  without  ex 
pressing  a  thought  of  terror,  a  sentiment  beyond  the  victory, 
the  glory,  and  the  gain.  But  such  is  the  sovereignty  of 
death,  in  the  silence  and  solitude  of  its  natural  gloom,  strip 
ped  of  the  pomp  and  paraphernalia  of  funereal  honors,  and 
unadorned  by  the  empty  braveries  of  human  praise  and  glory 
— such  is  the  empire  of  humble,  simple,  overruling  sorrow, 
that,  as  they  entered  the  low-roofed,  undecorated  chamber, 
where  lay  the  corpse  of  the  neglected,  despised  serf — the 
being,  while  in  life,  scarce  equal  to  the  animals  of  the  chase — 
with  his  nearest  of  kin,  serfs  likewise,  abject,  ignorant,  down 
trodden,  and  debased — in  so  far  as  man  can  debase  God's 
creations — mourning  in  Christian  sorrow  over  him,  the  nobles 
felt,  for  a  moment,  that  their  nobility  was  nothing  in  the  pres 
ence  of  the  awful  dead  ;  and  that  they,  too,  for  all  their  pride 
of  antique  blood,  for  all  their  strength  of  limb  and  heaven- 
daring  valor,  for  all  their  lands  and  lordships,  must  be  brought 
down  one  day  to  the  dust,  like  the  poor  slave,  and  go  forth, 
as  they  entered  this  world,  bearing  nothing  out,  before  one 
common  Lord  and  Master,  who  must  in  the  end  sit  in  uni 
versal  judgment. 

Such  meditations  are  not,  perhaps,  very  common  to  the 
great,  the  powerful,  and  the  fortunate  of  men,  in  any  time  or 


THE   SAXON'S    CONSTANCY.  71 

place,  so  long  as  the  light  of  this  world  shine  about,  and 
their  ways  are  ways  of  pleasantness ;  but  if  rare  always,  and 
under  all  ordinary  circumstances,  with  the  chivalrous,  high 
hearted,  and  hot-headed  knights  of  the  twelfth  century,  they 
were  assuredly  of  the  rarest. 

Yet  now  so  powerfully  did  they  come  over  the  strong 
minds  of  the  two  grave  nobles,  that  they  paused  a  moment  on 
the  threshold  before  entering ;  and  Yvo  de  Taillebois,  who 
was  the  elder  man,  and  of  deeper  thoughts  and  higher  ima 
gination  than  his  friend,  raised  his  plumed  bonnet  from  his 
brow,  and  bowed  his  head  in  silence. 

It  was  a  strange  and  moving  scene  on  which  they  looked. 
The  room,  which  was  the  ordinary  dwelling-place  of  the 
family,  was  rather  a  large,  dark  parallelogram,  lighted  only 
through  the  door  and  a  couple  of  narrow  latticed  windows, 
which,  if  closed,  would  have  admitted  few  half-intercepted 
rays,  but  which  now  stood  wide  open,  to  admit  the  fresh  and 
balmy  air,  so  that  from  one,  at  the  western  end  of  the  cottage, 
a  clear  ruddy  beam  of  the  declining  sun  shot  in  a  long  pencil 
of  light,  bringing  out  certain  objects  in  strong  relief  against 
the  surrounding  gloom. 

The  door,  at  which  the  two  knights  stood,  chanced  to  be  so 
placed  under  the  shadow  of  one  of  the  great  trees  which 
overhung  the  house,  that  there  was  little  light  for  them  to  in 
tercept.  Hence,  those  who  were  within,  occupied  by  their 
own  sad  and  bitter  thoughts,  did  not  at  first  so  much  as  ob 
serve  their  presence.  Facing  the  entrance,  a  large  fire-place, 
with  great  projecting  jambs,  inclosing  on  each  side  a  long 
oaken  settle,  occupied  one  half  the  length  of  the  room ;  and 
on  one  of  these,  propped  up  with  some  spare  bedding  and 


72  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

clothing,  lay  the  wounded  man,  Kenric,  to  whom  the  Baron 
de  Taillebois  owed  his  beloved  child's  life,  half  recumbent, 
pale  from  the  loss  of  blood,  yet  chafing  with  annoyance,  that 
he  should  be  thus  bedridden,  when  his  strength  might  have 
been  of  avail  to  others,  feebler  and  less  able  to  exert  them 
selves  almost  than  he,  bruised  though  he  was,  and  gored  from 
the  rude  encounter. 

A  little  fire  was  burning  low  on  the  hearth,  with  a  pot  sim 
mering  over  it — for,  in  their  bitterest  times  of  anguish  and  des 
olation,  the  very  poor  must  bestir  themselves,  at  least,  to  house 
service — and  from  the  logs,  which  had  fallen  forward  on  the 
hearth,  volumes  of  smoke  were  rolling  up  and  hanging  thick 
about  the  dingy  rafters,  and  the  few  hams  and  flitches  which, 
with  strings  of  oat-cakes  garnished  the  roof,  its  only  orna 
ment. 

But,  wholly  unconscious  of  the  ill-odored  reek,  though  it 
streamed  up  close  under  his  very  eyes,  and  seeing  nothing  of 
the  chevaliers,  who  were  watching  not  six  paces  from  him, 
Kenric  lay  helpless,  straining  his  nerveless  eyes  toward  the 
spot  where  the  ruddy  western  sunlight  fell,  like  a  glory,  on  the 
pale,  quiet  features  of  the  dead  child,  and  on  the  cold,  gray, 
impassive  head  of  the  aged  mourner,  aged  far  beyond  the 
ordinary  course  of  mortal  life,  who  bent  over  the  rude  bier ; 
and,  strange  contrast,  on  the  sunny  flaxen  curls,  and  em 
browned  ruddy  features  of  two  or  three  younger  children, 
clustered  around  the  grandam's  knee,  silent  through  awe 
rather  than  sorrow,  for  they  were  too  young  as  yet  to  know 
what  death  meant,  or  to  comprehend  what  was  that  awful 
gloom  which  had  fallen  upon  hearth  and  home. 

Every  thing  in  that  humble  and  poor  apartment  was  scru- 


THE   SAXON'S   CONSTANCY.  73 

pulously  clean  and  tidy  ;  a  white  cloth  was  on  the  table,  with 
two  or  three  platters  and  porringers  of  coarse  earthenware,  as 
if  the  evening  meal  had  been  prepared  when  death  had  en 
tered  in,  and  interposed  his  awful  veto — some  implements  of 
rustic  husbandry,  an  ax  or  two,  several  specimens  of  the  old 
English  bill  and  Sheffield  whittle ;  and  one  short  javelin,  with 
a  heavy  head,  hung  on  the  walls,  with  all  the  iron  work 
brightly  polished  and  in  good  order ;  fresh  rushes  were  strewn 
on  the  floor,  a  broken  pitcher,  full  of  newly-gathered  field- 
flowers,  adorned  the  window-sill ;  and  what  was  strange  indeed 
at  that  age,  and  in  such  a  place,  two  or  three  old,  much  tat 
tered,  dingy  manuscripts  graced  a  bare  shelf  above  the  chim 
ney  corner. 

The  aged  woman  had  ceased  from  the  wild  outbreak  of 
grief  with  which  she  had  bewailed  the  first  sign  of  death  on 
the  sick  boy's  faded  brow,  and  was  now  rocking  herself  to  and 
fro  above  the  body,  with  a  dull,  monotonous  murmur,  half  ar 
ticulate,,  combining  fragments  of  some  old  Saxon  hymn  with 
fondling  epithets  and  words  of  unmeaning  sorrow,  while  the 
tears  slowly  trickled  down  her  wan  cheeks,  and  fell  into  her  lap 
unheeded.  Kenric  was  silent,  for  he  had  no  consolation  to 
offer,  even  if  consolation  could  have  been  availing,  in  that 

The  first  dark  hour  yf  nothingness, 
The  last  of  danger  and  distress. 

Such  was  the  spectacle  which  met  the  eyes  of  those  high 
born  men,  who  had  come  down  from  their  high  place  into  the 
lowly  village,  with  the  intention  of  bestowing  happiness  and 
awakening  gratitude,  and  who  now  found  themselves  placed 
front  to  front  with  one  far  mightier  than  themselves,  whose 

4 


74  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

presence  left  no  room  for  joy,  even  with  those  the  least  used 
to  such  emotion. 

It  is,  however,  I  fear,  but  too  much  the  case  even  with  the 
more  refined  and  better  nurtured  classes  of  the  present  cen 
tury,  while  they  are  compassionating  the  sorrows  and  even  en 
deavoring  to  alleviate  the  miseries  of  their  poorer  and  less-cul 
tivated  brethren,  to  undervalue  the  depth  of  their  sensations, 
to  fancy  that  the  same  events  harrow  not  up  their  less  vivid 
sensibilities,  and  inflict  not  on  their  coarser  and  less  intellec 
tual  natures  the  same  agonies,  which  they  effect  upon  their 
own.  But,  although  it  may  be  true  that,  in  the  very  poor, 
the  necessity  of  immediate  labor,  of  all-engrossing  occupation, 
rendering  thought  and  reflection  on  the  past  impossible,  sooner 
removes  from  them  the  pressure  of  past  grief,  than  from  those 
who  can  afford  to  brood  over  it  in  indolent  despair,  and  in 
dulge  in  morbid  and  selfish  woe,  there  can  be  no  doubt  that, 
in  the  early  moments  of  a  new  bereavement,  the  agony  is  as 
acute  to  the  dullest  and  heaviest  as  to  the  loftiest  and  most 
imaginative  intellect.  Since  it  is  the  heart  itself,  that  is 
touched  in  the  first  instance ;  and,  though  in  after  hours  im 
agination  may  assume  its  share,  so  that  the  most  imaginative 
minds  dwell  longest  on  the  bygone  suffering,  the  heart  is  the 
same  in  the  peasant  as  in  the  peer,  and  that  of  the  wisest  of 
the  sons  of  men  bleeds  neitner  more  nor  less  profusely  than 
that  of  the  rudest  clown. 

And  so,  perchance,  in  some  sort  it  was  now.  For,  after 
pausing  and  looking  reverently  on  the  sad  picture,  until  it  was 
evident  that  they  were  entirely  overlooked,  if  not  unseen,  Sir 
Philip  de  Morvillo  took  a  step  or  two  forward  into  the  cottage, 
his  sounding  tread  at  once  calling  all  eyes  toward  his 


THE    SAXONS     CONSTANCY.  75 

person,  in  a  sort  of  half-stupid  mixture  of  alarm  and  astonish 
ment. 

For  in  those  days,  the  steps  of  a  Norman  baron  rarely  de 
scended  to  the  serf's  quarters,  unless  they  were  echoed  by  the 
clanking  strides  of  armed  subordinates,  and  too  often  followed 
by  the  clash  of  shackles  or  the  sound  of  the  hated  scourge. 
Sir  Philip  was  indeed,  as  it  has  been  observed,  an  even-tem 
pered  and  just  master,  as  things  went  in  those  times  ;  that  is 
to  say,  he  was  neither  personally  cruel  nor  exacting  of  labor ; 
nor  was  he  niggardly  in  providing  for  his  people ;  nor  did  he, 
when  it  came-  before  his  eyes,  tolerate  oppression,  or  permit 
useless  severity  on  the  part  of  subordinates,  who  were  often 
worse  tyrants  and  tormentors  than  the  lords.  Still,  his  kind 
liest  mood  amounted  to  little  more  than  bare  indifference; 
and  he  certainly  knew  and  studied  less  concerning  any  thing 
beyond  the  mere  physical  wants  and  condition  of  his  thralls  and 
bondsmen,  than  he  did  of  the  nurture  of  his  hawks  or  hounds. 

All  the  inmates,  therefore,  looked  up  in  wonder,  not  alto 
gether  unmixed  with  fear,  as,  certainly  for  the  first  time  in  his 
life,  the  castellan  entered  the  humble  tenement  of  the  serf  of 
the  soil. 

But  all  idea  of  fear  passed  away  on  the  instant ;  for  the 
knight's  face  was  open  and  calm,  though  grave,  and  his  voice 
was  gentle,  and  even  subdued,  as  he  spoke. 

"  Soh !"  he  said,  "  what  is  this,  Kenric,  which  causes  us,  in 
coming  down  to  see  if  we  might  not  heal  up  thy  heart  and 
cheer  thy  spirits  by  good  tidings,  to  find  worse .  sorrow,  for 
which  we  looked  not,  nor  can  reverse  it  by -any  mortal  doing. 
Who  is  the  boy «" 

"  Pardon  that  I  rise  not,  beausire,  to  reply  to  you,"  answered 


76  SHERWOODFOREST. 

the  serf,  "  but  this  right  leg  of  mine  will  not  bear  me ;  and 
when  the  hand  of  sickness  hold  us  down,  good  will  must  make 
shift  in  lieu  of  good  service.  It  is  my  nephew  Adhemar,  Sir 
Philip,  the  only  son  of  my  youngest  brother  Edgar,  who  was 
drowned  a  year  since  in  the  great  flood  of  the  Idle." 

"In  striving  to  rescue  my  old  blind  destrier  Sir  Roland, 
ah  !  I  remember  him ;  a  stout  and  willing  lad !  But  I  knew 
not,  or  forgot,  that  he  was  thy  brother.  And  so  this  is  his 
son,"  he  added,  striding  up  to  the  side  of  the  rude  bier,  and 
laying  his  broad  hand  upon  his  brow.  "  He  is  young,"  he 
said,  musingly,  "  very  young  to  die.  But  we  must  all  die  one 
day,  Kenric ;  and  who  knows  but  it  is  best  to  die  young  ?" 

"  At  least,  the  ancient  Greeks  and  Romans  said  so,"  inter 
posed  Yvo  de  Taillebois,  speaking  for  the  first  tinfc.  "  They 
have  a  proverb,  that,  whomsoever  the  gods  love,  dies  young." 

"I  think  it  is  best,  beausire,"  answered  the  serf;  "it  is 
never  cold  in  the  grave,  in  the  dreariest  storms ;  nor  sultry  in 
the  scorching  August.  And  they  are  never  hungiy  there,  nor 
sorefooted,  nor  weary  unto  death.  I  think  it  is  best  to  die 
young,  before  one  has  tasted  overmuch  sorrow  here  on  earth 
to  burden  his  heart  and  make  hhn  stubborn  and  malicious. 
It  was  this  I  was  saying  to  old  Bertha,  as  your  noblenesses  en 
tered  ;  but  she  has  never  held  her  head  up  since  my  brother, 
Edgar,  died ;  he  was  her  favorite,  since  she  always  held  that 
he  had  most  favor  of  our  grandfather." 

"  She  is  very  old  ?"  said  Sir  Philip,  half  questioning,  half 
musing.  ".She  is  very  old  ?" 

"Above  ninety  years,  Sir  Philip,  I  have  heard  Father 
Eadbald  say,  who  died  twenty  years  since,  at  the  abbey,  come 
next  Michaelmas.  It  should  have  been  he  who  married  her. 


THE   SAXON'S   CONSTANCY.  77 

Her  mother  was  the  last  free  woman  of  our  race.  We  had 
three  hydes  of  land,  I  Ve  heard  her  tell,  in  those  days,  down 
by  the  .banks  of  Idle,  held  of  old  Waltheof,  who  gave  his 
name  to  this  your  noble  castle.  But  they  are  all  gone  before 
us,  and  we  must  follow  them  when  our  day  comes.  And  then, 
as  I  tell  Bertha,  we  shall  be  free,  all,  if  not  equal ;  for  the  most 
virtuous  must  be  first  there,  as  Father  Engelram  tells  us.  May 
Mary  and  the  saints  be  about  us !" 

"  Come,  Kenric,"  said  De  Morville,  cheeringly,  "  thou  talkest 
now  more  like  to  a  gray  brother,  than  to  the  stout  woodman 
who  struckest  yon  brave  blow  but  a  while  since,  and  saved  Sir 
Yvo's  fair  lady,  Guendolen.  Faith  !  it  was  bravely  done,  and 
well ;  and  well  shall  come  of  it  to  you,  believe  me.  It  is  to 
speak  of  that  to  thee  that  we  came  hither,  but  this  boy's  death 
hath  put  it  from  our  minds.  But,  hark  ye,  boy !  I  will  send 
down  some  wenches  hither  from  the  castle,  with  ale  and  mead 
for  his  lykewake,  and  linen  for  a  shroud  ;  and  Father  Engel 
ram  shall  see  to  the  church-service ;  and  there  shall  be  a 
double  dole  to  the  poor  at  the  abbey ;  and  I  myself  will  pay  ten 
marks,  in  masses  for  his  soul.  If  he  died  a  serf,  he  shall  be 
buried  as  though  he  were  a  freeman,  and  a  franklin's  son ;  and 
all  for  thy  sake,  and  for  the  good  blow  thou  struckest  but 
three  hours  agone." 

Kenric's  brow  flushed  high,  whether  it  was  with  gratifica 
tion,  or  gratitude,  o"r  from  wounded  pride ;  but  he  stuttered 
confusedly,  as  he  attempted  to  thank  his  lord,  and  only  found 
his  tongue  as  he  related  to  his  grandmother,  in  his  native  lan 
guage,  the  promises  and  goodly  proffers  of  the  castellan  ;  and 
she,  for  a  moment,  spoke  eagerly  in  reply,  but  then  seemed  to 
forget,  and  was  silent.  A  word  or  two  passed  in  French  be- 


78  S  II  E  R  W  O  0  D     F  0  R  E  S  T . 

tweeri  the  nobles,  Yvo  de  Taillebois  urging  that  the  time  was 
inopportune  for  speaking  of  the  matter  on  which  they  had 
come  down  ;  for  that  it  was  not  well  to  mingle  great  joys  with 
great  sorrows ;  but  Sir  Philip  insisted,  declaring  that  there 
was  no  so  good  way  to  cure  a  past  grief;  as  by  the  news  of  a 
coming  joy. 

"  So,  hark  you,  Kenric,"  he  said ;  "  the  cure  we  came  to 
bring  you  for  your  bruised  bones,  and  the  guerdon  for  your 
gallant  deed,  in  two  words,  is  this — I  may  not,  as  you  may 
have  heard  tell,  liberate  my  serfs,  under  condition,  but  I  may 
sell;  and  I  have  sold  thee  to  mine  ancient  Mend  and  brother 
in  arms,  Yvo  de  Taillebois." 

"Not  to  hold  in  thrall,"  exclaimed  Yvo  de  Taillebois, 
eagerly,  as  he  saw  the  face  of  the  wounded  man  flush  fiery 
red,  and  then  grow  pale  as  ashes.  "  Not  to  hold  in  thrall,  but 
to  liberate  ;  but  to  make  thee  as  free  as  the  birds  of  the  wild 
est  wing — a  freeman ;  and,  if  thou  wilt  follow  me,  a  freeholder 
on  my  lands  beyond  the  lakes,  in  the  fair  shire  of  Westmore 
land." 

"I  am  a  serf  of  the  soil,  Beausire  de  Morville,  and  I  may 
not  be  sold  from  the  soil,  unless  legally  convicted  of  felony. 
I  know  no  felony  that  I  have  done,  Sir  Philip." 

"  Felony,  man  !"  exclaimed  Sir  Philip ;  "  art  thou  mad  1 
"We  would  reward  thee  for  thy  good  faith  and  valor.  We 
would  set  thee  free.  Of  course,  thou  canst  not  be  sold,  but 
with  thine  own  consent.  But  thou  hast  only  to  consent,  and 
be  free  as  thy  master." 

"  Sir  Philip,"  replied  the  man,  turning  even  paler  than  be 
fore,  and  trembling,  as  if  he  had  a  fit  of  palsy,  "would  I 
could  rise  to  bless  you,  on  my  bended  knee  !  May  the  great 


THE   SAXON'S   CONSTANCY.  79 

God  of  all  things  bless  you !  but  I  can  not  consent — think  me 
not  ungrateful — but  I  can  not  be  free !" 

"  Not  free !"  exclaimed  both  nobles  in  a  breath ;  and  Si* 
Yvo  gazed  on  him  wistfully,  as  if  he  but  partially  under 
stood  ;  but  Philip  de  Morville  turned  on  his  heel,  supercil 
iously.  "  Come,  Sir  Yvo,"  he  said ;  "  it  skills  not  wasting 
time,  or  breath,  on  these  abjects.  Why,  by  the  light  of 
heaven !  had  I  been  fettered  in  a  dungeon,  with  a  ton  of 
iron  at  my  heels,  I  had  leaped  head-high  to  know  myself  once 
more  a  freeman  ;  and  here  this  slave,  By  'r  lady  !  I  can  not 
brook  to  speak  his  name  !  can  not  consent,  forsooth  !  can  not 
consent  to  be  free  !  Heaven's  mercy  !  Let  him  rot  a  slave, 
then  !  unless,  perchance,  thou  wouldst  crave  him  for  thy  sake, 
and  the  Virgin  Mother's  sake,  to  take  good  counsel  and  be 
free.  Out  on  it !  out  on  it !  I  am  sick  to  the  soul  at  such 
baseness !" 

And  he  left  the  cottage  abruptly,  in  scorn  and  anger.  But 
Sir  Yvo  de  Taillebois  stood  still,  gazing  compassionately  and 
inquiringly  on  the  man,  over  whose  face  there  had  fallen  a 
dark,  gray,  death-like  shadow,  as  he  lay  with  his  teeth  and 
hands  clinched  like  vices. 

"  Can  this  be  ?  I  thought  not  that  on  earth  there  lived  a 
man  who  might  be  free,  and  would  not.  Dost  not  love  liber 
ty,  Kenned' 

"  Ask  the  wild  eagle  in  his  place  of  pride  !  Ask  the  wild 
goat  on  Pennigant  or  Ingleborough's  head ;  and  when  they 
come  down  to  the  cage  and  chain,  believe,  then,  that  I  love  it 
not.  Freedom !  freedom !  To  be  free  but  five  minutes,  I 
would  die  fifty  deaths  of  direst  torture.  And  yet  it  can  not 
be — it  can  not  be  !  Peace,  tempter,  peace  ;  you  can  not  stir 


80  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

my  soul.  Slave  I  was  bora,  slave  I  must  die,  and  only  in  the 
grave  shall  bo  a  slave  no  longer.  Leave  me,  beausire  ;  but 
think  me  not  ungrateful.  I  never  looked  to  owe  so  much  to 
living  man,  and  least  of  all  to  living  man  of  your  proud  race, 
as  I  owe  you  to-day.  But  leave  me,  noble  sir  ;  you  can  not 
aid  us.  So  go  your  way,  and  leave  us  to  our  sorrow,  and 
may  the  God  of  serfs  and  seigneurs  be  about  you  with  his 


"  Passing  strange  !  This  is  passing  strange !"  said  De 
Taillebois,  as  he  turned  to  go  likewise ;  "  I  never  saw  a  beast 
that  would  not  leave  his  cage  when  the  door  was  open." 

"But  I  have  !"  answered  Kenric-;  "when  the  beast's  brood 
were  within,  and  might  not  follow  him.  But  I  am  not  a 
beast,  Sir  Knight ;  but  though  a  serf,  a  man — a  Saxon,  not-  a 
Norman,  it  is  true  ;  but  a  man,  yet,  a  manr!  There  may  be 
collar  on  my  neck,  and  gyves  on  wrist  and  ankle,  but  my  soul 
wears  no  shackles.  It  is  as  free  as  thine,  and  shall  stand  face 
to  face  with  thine,  one  day,  before  the  judgment  seat.  I  am 
a  man,  I  say,  Sir  Yvo  de  Taillebois ;  there  sits  old  Bertha,  sur- 
named  the  Good,  a  serf  herself,  mother  of  serfs,  and  grand 
mother  ;  there  lies  my  serf-brother's  boy,  himself  a  serf  no 
longer ;  there  sprawl  unconscious  on  the  hearth  his  baby 
brethren,  serfs  from  the  cradle  to  the  grave  ;  and  here  comes," 
he  added,  in  a  deeper,  sterner,  lower  tone,  as  the  beautiful 
Saxon  slave-girl  entered,  whom  they  had  seen  near  the  draw 
bridge,  washing  in  the  stream — "  here  comes — look  upon  her, 
noble  knight  and  Norman ! — here  comes  my  plighted  bride, 
my  Edith  the  fair-haired  !  I  am  a  man,  Norman  !  Should  I 
be  man,  or  beast,  if,  leaving  these  in  bondage,  I  were  to  fare 
forth  hence,  alone,  into  dishonored  freedom  ?" 


CHAPTER    VII. 

THE     SLAVE     GIRL'S     SELF-DEVOTION 


1 1  say  not  nay,  but  that  all  day, 

It  is  both  writ  and  said, 
That  woman's  faith  is,  as  who  sayeth, 

All  utterly  decayed  ; 
But  ncverthelesse,  right  good  witnesso 

In  this  case  might  be  laid, 
That  they  love  true  and  continue— 

Eecorde  the  Not-browne  mayde ; 
"Which,  Avhen  her  love  came  her  to  prove, 

To  her  to  make  his  mono, 
Wolde  have  him  part— for  in  her  hart 

She  loved  him  but  alone." 

THE  NOT-BEOWNE  MAYDE. 


How  true  a  thing  is  it  of  the  human  heart,  and  alas ! 
how  pitiful  a  thing,  that  use  has  such  wondrous  power  over 
it,  whether  for  good  or  for  evil ;  but  mostly — perhaps  because 
such  is  its  original  nature — unto  evil.  Custom  will  harden  the 
softest  spirit  to  the  ice-brook's  temper,  and  blind  the  clearest 
philosophic  eye  to  all  discrimination,  that  things  the  most  horri 
ble  to  behold  shall  be  beheld  with  pleasure,  and  things  the  most 
unjust  regarded  as  simple  justice,  or,  at  least,  as  the  inevitable 
course  and  pervading  law  of  nature.  True  as  this  is,  in  all 
respects,  in  none  is  it  more  clearly  or  fatally  discoverable  than 
in  every  thing  connected  with  what  may  be  called  slavery,  in 

4* 


82  SIIERWO  OD     FO  REST. 

the  largest  sense — including  the  subjugation,  by  whatever 
means,  not  only  of  man  to  man,  but  even  of  animals  to  the 
human  race.  In  all  such  cases,  it  would  appear  that  the 
hardening  and  deteriorating  influence  of  habit,  and  perhaps 
the  unavoidable  tendency  to  believe  every  thing  subordinate 
as  in  itself  inferior,  soon  brings  the  mind  to  regard  the  power 
to  enforce  and  the  capacity  to  perform,  as  the  rule  of  justice 
between  the  worker  and  the  master. 

The  generally  good  and  kind-hearted  man,  who  has  all  his 
life  been  used  to  see  his  beasts  of  burden  dragging  a  few 
pounds'  weight  above  their  proper  and  merciful  load,  soon 
comes  to  regard  the  extraordinary  measure  as  the  proper 
burden,  and  to  look  upon  the  hapless  brute,  which  is  pining 
away  by  inches,  in  imperceptible  and  insensible  decay,  as 
merely  performing  the  work,  and  filling  the  station,  to  per 
form  and  fill  which  it  was  created.  And  so,  and  yet  more 
fatally,  as  regards  the  subjugation  of  man,  or  a  class  of  men, 
to  man.  We  commence  by  degrading,  and  end  by  thinking 
of  him  as  of  one  naturally  degraded.  We  reduce  him  to  the 
standard  and  condition  of  a  brute,  then  assume  that  he  is  but 
a  brute  in  feelings,  intellect,  capacity  to  acquire,  and  thence 
argue — in  the  narrowest  of  circles — that  being  but  a  brute,  it 
is  but  right  and  natural  to  deal  with  him  as  what  he  is.  Nor 
is  this  tendency  of  the  human  mind  limited  in  its  operation  to 
actual  slavery ;  but  prevails,  more  or  less,  in  relation  to  all 
servitude  and  inferiority,  voluntary  or  involuntary ;  so  that 
many  of  the  best,  all  indeed  but  the  very  best,  among  us, 
come  in  the  end  to  look  upon  all,  placed  by  circumstances 
and  society  in  inferior  positions,  as  inferiors  in  very  deed,  and 
as  naturally  unequal  to  themselves  in  every  capacity,  even  that 


THE     SLAVE     GIRL?S     SELF-DEVOTION. 

of  enjoyment,  and  to  regard  them,  in  fact,  as  a  subordinate 
class  of  animals  and  beings  of  a  lower  range  of  creation. 

This  again,  still  working  in  a  circle,  tends  really  to  lower 
the  inferior  person ;  and,  by  the  tendency  of  association,  the 
inferior  class ;  until  degenerating  still,  as  must  occur,  from 
sire  to  son,  through  centuries,  the  race  itself  sinks  from  social 
into  natural  degradation. 

This  had  already  occurred  in  a  very  great  degree  in  the 
Saxon  serfs  of  England,  who  had  been  slaves  of  Saxons,  for 
many  centuries,  before  the  arrival  of  the  Norman  conquerors. 
The  latter  made  but  small  distinction,  in  general,  between  the 
free-born  and  the  slave  of  the  conquered  race,  but  reduced 
them  all  to  one  common  state  of  misery  and  real  or  quasi 
servitude — for  many,  who  had  once  been  land-holders  and 
masters,  sunk  into  a  state  of  want  and  suffering  so  pitiable 
and  so  abject,  that,  generation  succeeding  generation  with 
neither  the  means  nor  the  ambition  to  rise,  they  became  al 
most  undistinguishable  from  the  original  serfs,  and  in  many  in 
stances  .either  sold  themselves  into  slavery  to  avoid  actual  starv 
ation,  or  were  seized  and  enslaved,  in  defiance  of  all  law,  in  the 
dark  and  troublous  time  which  followed  the  Norman  conquest. 

'There  being  then  two  classes  of  serfs  existing  on  British 
soil,  though  not  recognized  as  different  by  law,  or  in  any  wise 
differing  in  condition,  Kenric,  himself  descended  in  the  third  de 
gree  from  a  freeman  and  landholder,  exhibited  a  fair  specimen  at 
the  first ;  although  it  by  no  means  followed  of  course  that  men 
in  his  relative  position  were  actually  superior  to  the  progeny  of 
those,  who  could  designate  no  point  before  which  their  ances 
tors  were  free.  And  this  became  evident,  at  once,  to  those 
who  looked  at  the  characters  of  Kenric  the  Dark,  and  Ead- 


84  SHEllWOODFOREST. 

wulf  the  Red,  of  whom  the  former  was  in  all  respects  a  man 
of  sterling  qualities,  frank,  bold  demeanor,  and  all  the  finer 
characteristics  of  independent,  hardy,  English  manhood ;  while 
the  second,  though  his  own  brother,  was  a  rude,  sullen,  thank 
less,  spiritless,  obstinate  churl,  with  nothing  of  the  man,  except 
his  sordid,  sensual  appetites,  and  every  thing  of  the  beast,  ex 
cept  his  tameless  pride  and  indomitable  freedom. 

It  was,  therefore,  even  with  one  of  the  better  class  of  these 
unfortunate  men,  a  matter  of  personal  character  and  temper, 
whether  he  retained  something  of  the  relative  superiority  he 
bore  to  his  yet  more  unfortunate  companions  in-  slavery,  or 
whether  he  sank  self-lowered  to  their  level.  Nothing,  it  is 
true,  had  either  to  which  he  might  aspire ;  no  hope  of  better 
ing  his  condition ;  no  chance  of  rising  in  the  scale  of  human 
ity.  Acts  of  emancipation,  as  rewards  of  personal  service,  had 
been  rare  even  among  the  Saxons,  since,  the  utmost  personal 
service  being  due  by  the  thrall  to  his  lord,  no  act  of  personal 
service,  unless  in  most  extreme  cases,  could  be  esteemed  a 
merit ;  and  such  serfs  as  owed  their  freedom  to  the  voluntary 
commiseration  of  their  owners,  owed  it,  in  the  great  majority 
of  cases,  to  their  superstition  rather  than  to  their  mercy,  and 
were  liberated  on  the  deathbed,  when  they  could  serve  their 
masters  in  no  otherwise,  than  in  becoming  an  atonement  for 
their  sins,  and  smoothing  their  path  through  purgatory  to 
paradise. 

With  the  Normans,  the  chance  of  liberation  was  diminished 
an  hundred-fold ;  for  the  degraded  race,  held  in  utter  abhor 
rence  and  contempt,  and  looked  upon  as  scarce  superior  to  the 
abject  Jew,  was  excluded  from  all  personal  contact  with  their 
haughty  lords,  who  rarely  so  much  as  knew  them  by  sight  or 


THE     SLAVE     GIRL'S     SELF-DEVOTION.  85 

by  name — was  incapable  of  serving  them  directly,  in  the  most 
menial  capacity — and,  therefore,  could  hardly,  by  the  wildest 
good  fortune,  hope  for  a  chance  of  attracting  even  observation, 
much  less  such  praise  as  would  be  like  to  induce  the  high 
boon  of  liberty. 

Again,  on  the  deathbed,  the  Norman  knight  or  noble,  scarce 
condescending  to  think  of  his  serf  as  a  human  being,  could 
never  have  entertained  so  preposterous  an  idea,  as  that  the 
better  or  worse  usage,  nay  !  even  the  life  or  death  of  hundreds 
of  these  despised  wretches  could  weigji  either  for  him  or  against 
him,  before  the  throne  of  grace.  So  that  the  deathbed  eman 
cipations,  which  had  been  so  frequent  before  the  conquest,  and 
which  were  recommended  and  inculcated  by  abbots  and  pre 
lates,  while  abbots  and  prelates  were  of  Saxon  blood,  as  acts 
acceptable  on  high,  now  that  the  high  clergy,  like  the  high 
barons  of  the  realm,  were  strangers  to  the  children  of  the  soil, 
had  fallen  into  almost  absolute  disuse. 

4 

In  fact,  in  the  twelfth  century,  the  Saxon  serf-born  man  had 
little  more  chance  of  acquiring  his  freedom,  than  an  English 
peasant  of  the  present  day  has  of  becoming  a  temporal  or 
spiritual  peer  of  the  realm ;  and,  lacking  all  object  for  emula 
tion  or  exertion,  these  men  too  often  justified  the  total  indif 
ference  with  which  they  were  looked  upon  by  the  owners  of 
the  soil.  This  fact,  or  rather  this  condition  of  things  in  their 
physical  and  moral  aspect,  has  been  dwelt  upon,  somewhat  at 
length,  in  order  to  show  how  it  is  possible  that  a  gentleman 
of  the  highest  birth,  of  intellects,  acquirements,  ideas  of  justice 
and  right,  vastly  more  correct  than  those  entertained  by  the 
majority  of  his  caste — a  gentleman,  sensitive,  courteous, 
kindly,  the  very  mirror  of  faith  and  honor — should  have  dis- 


86  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

torted  devotion  so  noble,  faith  so  disinterested,  a  sense  of 
honor  so  high,  a  piety  so  pure,  as  that  displayed  by  Kenric 
the  Dark,  in  his  refusal  of  the  bright  jewel  liberty,  in  his  elo 
quent  assertion  of  his  rights,  his  sympathies,  his  spiritual  es 
sence  as  a  man,  into  an  act  of  outrecuidance,  almost  into  a 
personal  affront  to  his  own  dignity.  Yet,  so  it  was,  and  alas  ! 
naturally  so — for  so  little  was  he,  or  any  of  his  fellows,  used 
to  consider  his  serf  in  the  light  of  an  arguing,  thinking,  re 
sponsible  being,  that  probably  Balaam  was  but  little  more 
astonished  when  his  ass  turned  round  on  him  and  spoke,  than 
was  Yvo  de  Taillebois,  when  the  serf  of  the  soil  stood  up  in 
his  simple  dignity  as  a  man,  and  refused  to  be  free,  unless 
those  he  -loved,  whom  it  was  his  duty  to  support,  cherish, 
shield,  and  comfort,  might  be  free  together  with  him.  Cer 
tain  it  is,  that  he  left  the  cottage  which  he  had  entered  full 
of  gratitude,  and  eager  to  be  the  bearer  of  good  tidings,  dis 
appointed,  exasperated  against  Kenric,  vexed  that  his  endeav 
ors  to  prove  his  gratitude  had  been  frustrated,  and  equally 
uncertain  how  he  should  disclose  the  unwelcome  tidings  to  his 
daughter,  and  how  reconcile  to  his  host  the  conduct  of  the 
Saxon,  which  he  had  remained  in  the  hope  of  fathoming,  and 
explaining  to  his  satisfaction. 

In  truth,  he  felt  himself  indignant  and  wounded  at  the  un 
reasonable  perduracy  of  the  man,  in  refusing  an  inestimable 
boon,  for  what  ho  chose  to  consider  a  cause  so  trivial ;  and 
this,  too,  though  had  he  himself  been  in  the  donjon  of  the  in 
fidel,  expecting  momentary  death  by  the  faggot  or  the  rack, 
and  been  offered  liberty,  life,  empire,  immortality,  on  condition 
of  leaving  the  least-valued  Christian  woman  to  the  harem  of 


SELF-DEVOTION.  87 

the  Mussulman,  lie  would  have  spurned  the  offer  with  his 
most  arrogant  defiance. 

This  seemed  to  him  much  as  it  would  seem  to  the  butcher, 
if  the  bull,  with  the  knife  at  his  throat,  were  to  speak  up  and 
refuse  to  live,  unless  his  favorite  heifer  might  be  allowed  to 
share  his  fortunes.  It  appeared  to  him  wondrous*,  indeed,  but 
wondrously  annoying,  and  almost  absurd.  In  no  respect  did 
it  strike  him  as  one  of  the  noblest  and  most  generous  deeds 
of  self-abandonment  of  which  the  human  soul  is  capable ; 
though,  had  the  self-same  offer  been  spurned,  as  the  slave 
spurned  it,  and  in  the  very  words  which  he  had  found  in  the 
rude  eloquence  of  indignation,  by  belted  knight  or  crowned 
king,  he  had  unhesitatingly  styled  it  an  action  of  the  highest 
glory,  and  worthy  of  immortal  record  in  herald's  tale  or  min 
strel's  story.  Such  is  the  weight  of  circumstance  upon  the 
noblest  minds  of  men. 

With  his  brow  bent,  and  his  arms  folded  on  his  breast, 
moodily,  almost  sorrowfully,  did  the  .good  knight  of  Taillebois 
wend  his  way  back  toward  the  towers  of  Waltheofstow,  mak 
ing  no  effort  to  overtake  his  brother-in-arms  and  entertainer, 
whom  he  could  clearly  see  stalking  along  before  him,  in  no 
more  placable  mood  than  himself,  but  burying  himself  on  his 
return  in  his  own  chamber,  whence  he  made  his  appearance 
no  more  that  evening ;  though  he  might  hear  Sir  Philip 
storming  through  the  castle,  till  the  vaulted  halls  and.  pass 
ages  resounded  from  barbican  to  battlement. 

Meantime,  in  the  lowly  cottage  of  the  serf — for  the  lord, 
though  angry  and  indignant,  had  not  failed  of  his  plighted 
word — the  lykewake  of  the  dead  boy  went  on — for  that  was 
a  Saxon  no  less  than  a  Celtic  custom,  though  celebrated  by 


88  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

the  former  with  a  sort  of  stolid  decorum,  as  different  as  night 
is  from  day  from  the  loud  and  barbarous  orgies  of  their  wilder 
neighbors. 

The  consecrated  tapers  blazed  around  the  swathed  and 
shrouded  corpse,  and  sent  long  streams  of  light  through  the 
open  door  an*d  lattices  of  the  humble  dwelling,  as  though  it 
had  been  illuminated  for  a  high  rejoicing.  The  death  hymn 
was  chanted,  and  the  masses  sung  by  the  gray  brothers  from 
the  near  Saxon  cloister.  The  dole  to  the  poor  had  been  given, 
largely,  out  of  the  lord's  abundance ;  and  the  voices  of  the 
rioting  slaves,  emancipated  from  all  servitude  and  sorrow,  for 
the  nonce,  by  the  humming  ale  and  strong  metheglin,  were 
loud  in  praises  of  their  bounteous  master,  until,  drenched  and 
stupefied  with  liquor,  and  drunk  with  maudlin  sorrow,  they 
staggered  off  to  their  respective  dens,  to  snore  away  the  fumes 
of  their  unusual  debauch,  until  aroused  at  dawn  by  the  harsh 
cry  of  the  task-master. 

By  degrees  the  quiet  of  the  calm  summer  night  sank  down 
over  the  dwelling  and  garden  of  Kenric,  as  guest  after  guest 
departed,  until  no  one  remained  save  one  old  Saxon  brother, 
who  sat  by  the  simple  coffin,  telling  his  beads  in  silence,  or 
muttering  masses  for  the  soul  of  the  dead,  apparently  uncon 
scious  of  any  thing  passing  around  him. 

The  aged  woman  liad  been  removed,  half  by  persuasion, 
half  by  gentle  force,  from  the  dwelling-room,  and  had  soon 
sunk  into  the  heavy  and  lethargic  slumber  which  oftentimes 
succeeds  to  overwhelming  sorrow.  The  peaceful  moonlight 
streamed  in  through  the  open  door  of  the  cheerless  home,  like 
the  grace  of  heaven  into  a  disturbed  and  sinful  heart,  as  one 
by  one  the  tapers  flickered  in  their  sockets  and  expired.  The 


THE     SLAVE     GIRL'S     SELF-DEVOTION.  89 

shrill  cry  of  the  cricket,  and  the  peculiar  jarring  note  of  the 
night-hawk,  replaced  the  droning  of  the  monkish  chants,  and 
the  suppressed  tumult  of  vulgar  revelry ;  but,  though  there 
was  solitude  and  silence  without,  there  was  neither  peace  nor 
heart-repose  within. 

Sorely  shaken,  and  cruelly  gored  by  the  stag  in  trunk  and 
limbs,  and  yet  more  sorely  shaken  in  his  mind  by  the  agita 
tion  and  excitement  of  the  angry  scene  with  his  master,  and 
by  the  internal  conflict  of  natural  selfishness  with  strong  con 
scientious  will,  Kenric  lay,  with  his  eyes  wide  open,  gazing  on 
his  dead  nephew,  although  his  mind  was  far  away,  with  his 
head  throbbing,  and  his  every  nerve  jerking  and  tense  with 
the  hot  fever. 

But  by  his  side,  soothing  his  restless  hand  with  her  caress 
ing  touch,  bathing  his  burning  temples  with  cold  lotions, 
holding  the  soft  medicaments  to  his  parched  lips,  beguiling 
his  wild,  wandering  thoughts  with  gentle  lover's  chidings,  and 
whispering  of  better  days  to  come,  sat  the  fair  slave  girl, 
Edith,  his  promised  wife,  for  whose  dear  sake  he  had  cast 
liberty  to  the  four  winds,  and  braved  the  deadly  terrors  of  the 
unforgiving  Norman  frown.\ 

She  had  heard  enough,  as  she  entered  the  house  at  that  de 
cisive  moment,  to  comprehend  the  whole  ;  and,  if  the  proud 
and  high-born  knights  were  at  a  loss  to  understand,  much  less 
appreciate,  the  noble  virtue  of  the  serf,  the  poor  uneducated 
slave  girl  had  seen  and  felt  it  all — felt  it  thrill  to  her  heart's 
core,  and  inspire  her  weakness  with  equal  strength,  equal  de 
votion. 

She  had  argued,  she  had  prayed,  she  had  implored,  clinging 
to  his  knees,  that  for  the  love  of  Heaven,  for  the  love  of  her- 


90  8  II  E  R  V,r  O  O  D     F  O  R  E  8  T . 

self,  lie  would  accept  the  boon  of  freedom,  and  leave  her  to 
her  fate,  which  would  be  sweeter  far  to  her,  she  swore,  from 
the  knowledge  of  his  prosperity,  than  it  could  be  rendered  by 
the  fruition  of  the  greatest  worldly  bliss.  And  then,  when 
she  found  prayer  and  supplication  fruitless,  she,  too,  waxed 
strong  and  glorious.  She  lifted  her  hand  to  heaven,  and 
swore  before  the  blessed  Virgin  and  her  ever-living  Son,  that, 
would  he  yield  to  her  entreaties  and  be  free,  she  would  be  true 
to  him,  and  to  him  alone,  forever ;  but  should  he  still  persist 
in  his  wicked  and  mad  refusal  of  God's  own  most  especial 
gift  of  freedom,  she  would  at  least  deprive  him  of  the  purpose 
of  his  impious  resolution,  place  an  impenetrable  barrier  be 
tween  them  two,  and  profess  herself  the  bride  of  Heaven. 

At  length,  as  he  only  chafed  and  resisted  more  and  more, 
till  resistance  and  fever  were  working  almost  delirium — any 
thing  but  conviction  and  repentance — like  a  true  woman,  she 
betook  herself  from  argument,  and  tears,  and  supplication,  to 
comforting,  consoling,  and  caressing ;  and,  had  the  rage  and 
fever  of  his  body,  or  the  terrible  excitement  of  his  tortured 
mind,  been  less  powerful,  she  could  not  but  have  won  the  day, 
in  the  noblest  of  all  strifes — the  strife  of  mutual  disinterested 
ness  and  devotion. 

[  "  0  woman !  in  onr  hours  of  ease, 
Inconstant,  coy,  and  hard  to  please ; 
When  pain  and  anguish  rend  the  brow, 
A  ministering  angel  thoul"    j 


CHAPTER    VIII. 


GUKNDCTLEFS     BOWER. 

"Four  gray  walls,  and  four  square  towers,    • 
Overlook  a  space  of  flowers, 
And  the  silent  isle  iinbowers, 
The  Lady  of  Shalott." 

TENNYSON. 

HIGH  up  in  the  gray  square  tower,  which  constituted  the 
keep  of  the  castle  of  Waltheofstow,  there  was  a  suite  of  apart 
ments,  "the  remains  of  which  are  discoverable  to  this  day, 
known  as  the  Lady's  Bower  ;  which  had,  it  is  probable,  from 
the  construction  of  the  edifice,  been  set  apart,  not  only  as  the 
private  chambers  of  the  chatelaine  and  ladies  of  the  family, 
her  casual  guests  and  their  attendants,  but  as  what  we  should 
now  call  the  drawing-rooms,  wherein  the  more  social  hours  of 
those  rude  days  were  passed,  when  the  sexes  intermingled, 
whether  for  the  enjoyment  of  domestic  leisure,  or  for  gayety 
and  pleasure. 

The  keep  of  Waltheofstow  consisted,  as  did  indeed  all  the 
smaller  fortalices  of  that  date,  when  private  dwellings,  even  of 
the  great  and  powerful,  were  constructed  with  a  view  to  defense 
above  all  beside,  of  one  large  massive  building  of  an  oblong  square 
form,  with  a  solid  circular  buttress  at  each  angle,  which,  above 
the  basement  floor,  was  hollowed  into  a  lozenge-shaped  tur- 


92  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

ret,  extending  above  the  esplanade  of  the  highest  battlements, 
and  terminating  at  a  giddy  height  in  a  crenellated  and  rnachic- 
olated  lookout,  affording  a  shelter  to  the  sentries,  and  a  flank 
ing  defense  to  the  corps  de  logis. 

For  its  whole  height,  from  the  guard-room,  which  occupied 
the  whole  ground-floor,  to  the  battlements,  one  of  these  turrets 
contained  the  great  winding  stone  staircase  of  the  castle,  light 
ed  at  the  base  by  mere  shot-holes  and  loops,  but,  as  it  rose 
higher  and  higher  above  the  danger  of  escalade,  by  mullioned 
windows  of  increasing  magnitude,  until,  at  the  very  summit, 
it  was  surmounted  by  a  beautifully-wrought  lanthorn  of  Gothic 
stone-work.  The  other  three,  lighted  in  the  same  manner, 
better  and  better  as  they  ascended,  formed  each  a  series  of 
small  pleasant  rooms,  opening  upon  the  several  stories,  and  for 
the  most  part  were  fitted  as  the  sleeping-rooms  of  the  various 
officers. 

The  whole  floor,  first  above  the  guard-room,  was  divided 
into  the  kitchen,  butteries,  and  household  offices ;  while  the 
next  in  order,  being  the  third  in  elevation  above  the  court 
yard,  was  reserved  in  one  superb  parallelogram  of  ninety  feet 
by  sixty,  well  lighted  by  narrow  lanceolated  windows,  and 
adorned  with  armors  of  plate  and  mailj  scutcheons  rich  with 
heraldic  bearings,  antlers  of  deer  and  elk,  horns  of  the  bull, 
yet  surviving,  of  the  great  Caledonian  forests,  skulls  of  the 
grizzly  boars  grinning  with  their  ivory  tusks,  and  banners  de 
pendent  from  the  lofty  groinings  of  the  arched  roof,  trophies 
of  many  a  glorious  day.  This  was  the  knight's  hall,  the 
grand  banqueting-saloon  of  the  keep  ;  while  of  its  three  tur 
rets,  one  was  the  castle  chapel,  a  second  a  smaller  dining-hall, 
and  the  last  the  private  cabinet  and  armory  of  the  castellan. 


G  U  E  N  D  O  L  E  N '  S     B  0  W  E  tt.  93 

Above  this,  again,  on  the  fourth  plat,  were  bed-chambers  of 
state,  the  larger  armory,  and  the  dormitories  of  the  warders, 
esquires,  pages,  and  seneschal,  who  alone  dwelt  within  the 
keep,  the  rest  of  the  garrison  occupying  the  various  out-build 
ings  and  towers  upon  the  flanking  walls  and  ramparts. 

The  fifth  story,  at  least  a  hundred  feet  in  air  above  the  inner 
court,  and  nearly  thrice  that  elevation  above  the  base  of  the 
scarped  mount  on  which  the  castle  stood,  contained  the  Lady's 
bower ;  and  its  whole  area  of  ninety  feet  by  sixty  was  divided, 
in  the  first  instance,  laterally  by  three  partitions,  into  three 
apartments,  each  sixty  feet  in  length  by  thirty  wide.  Of 
these,  however,  the  first  and  last  were  subdivided  equally  in 
two  squares  of  thirty  feet.  The  whole  of  the  bower,  thus,  con 
tained  a  handsome  ante-chamber,  opening  from  the  great  stair 
case,  with  a  large  room  for  the  waiting-women  to  the  right, 
communicating  with  the  turret  chamber  corresponding  to  the 
stairway.  Beyond  the  vestibule,  by  which  access  was  had  to 
it,  lay  the  grand  ladies'  hall,  furnished  with  all  the  superabund 
ance  of  splendor  and  magnificence,  and  all  the  lack  of  real 
convenience,  which  was  the  characteristic  of  the  time ;  divans, 
and  deep  settles,  and  ponderous  arm-chairs  covered  with  gold 
and  velvet ;  embroideries  and  emblazoned  foot-cloths  on  the 
floor ;  mirrors  of  polished  steel,  emulating  Venetian  crystals, 
on  the  walls  ;  mighty  candelabra  of  silver  gilt ;  tables  of  many 
kinds,  some  made  for  the  convenience  of  long-forgotten  games, 
some  covered  with  cups  and  vessels  of  gold,  silver,  and  richly- 
colored  glass,  and  one  or  two,  smaller,  and  set  away  in  quiet 
nooks,  with  easy  seats  beside  them,  showing  the  feminine 
character  of  the  occupants,  by  a  lute,  a  gittern,  and  two  or 
three  other  musical  implements  long  since  fallen  into  disuse ; 


94  SHERWOODFOREST. 

pages  of  music  written  in  the  old  musical  notation  of  the  age  ; 
some  splendidly-bound  and  illuminated  missals  and  romances, 
in  priceless  manuscript,  each  actually  worth  its  weight  in  gold ; 
silks  and  embroideries  ;  a  working-stand,  with  a  gorgeous  sur- 
coat  of  arms  half  finished,  the  needle  sticking  in  the  superb 
material  where  the  fairy  fingers  had  left  it,  when  last  called 
from  their  gentle  task ;  and  great  vases  full  of  the  finest  flow 
ers  of  the  season. 

Such  was  the  aspect  of  the  room,  beheld  by  the  declining 
rays  of  the  sun,  which  had  already  sunk  so  low  that  his 
stray  beams,  instead  of  falling  downward  through  the  gorgeous 
hues  of  the  tinted-windows,  streamed  upward  into  that  lofty 
place,  playing  on  the  richly-carved  and  gilded  ceilings,  catch 
ing  here  on  a  mirror,  there  on  a  vase  of  gold  or  silver,  and 
sending  hundreds  of  burning  specks  of  light  dancing  through 
the  motley  haze  of  gold  and  purple,  which  formed  the  atmos 
phere  of  that  almost  royal  bower. 

From  this  rich  withdrawing-room,  strangely  out  of  place  in 
appearance,  though  not  so  in  reality,  in  the  old  gray  Norman 
fortress,  among  the  din  of  arms  and  flash  of  harness,  opened 
two  bed-rooms,  equal  in  costliness  of  decoration  to  the  saloon 
without,  each  having  its  massive  four-post  bedstead  in  a  recess, 
accessible  by  three  or  four  broad  steps,  as  if  it  were  a  throne  of 
honor,  each  with  its  mirror  and  toilet,  its  appurtenances  for 
the  bath,  its  easy  couches,  and  its  chair  of  state ;  its  prie  diew 
and  kneeling-hassock,  in  a  niche,  with  a  perfumed  lamp  burn 
ing  before  a  rudely-painted  picture  of  the  Madonna,  each  having 
communication  with  a  pretty  turret-chamber,  fitted  with  couch 
and  reading-desk,  and  opening  on  a  bartizan  or  balcony,  which, 
though  they  were  intended  in  times  of  war  or  danger  for  posts 


GUENDOLEN'S   BOWER.  95 

of  vantage  to  the  defense,  whence  to  shower  missiles  or  pour 
seething  pitch  or  oil  on  the  heads  of  assailants,  were  filled  in 
the  pleasant  days  of  peace  with  shrubs  and  flowers,  planted  in 
large  tubs  and  troughs,  waving  green  and  joyous,  and  filling 
the  air  with  sweet  smells  two  hundred  feet  above  their  dewy 
birth-place.  »  - 

It  may  be  added,  that  so  thick  and  massive  were  the  walls 
at  this  almost  inaccessible  height,  that  galleries  had  been,  as  it 
were,  scooped  out  of  them,  offering  easy  communication  from 
one  room  to  another,  and  even  private  staircases  from  story  to 
story,  with  secret  closets  large  enough  for  the  accommodation 
of  a  favorite  page  or  waiting-damsel,  where  nothing  of  the 
sort  would  be  expected,  or  could  indeed  exist,  within  a  modern 
dwelling. 

Thus,  the  inconveniences  of  such  an  abode,  all  except  the 
height  to  which  it  was  necessary  for  the  female  inmates  to 
climb,  were  more  imaginary  than  real ;  and  it  was  perfect 
ly  easy,  and  indeed  usual,  for  the  ladies  of  such  a  castle  to 
pass  to  and  fro  from  the  rooms  of  their  husbands,  fathers,  or 
brothers,  and  even  from  the  knights'  hall  to  their  own  bower, 
without  meeting  any  of  the  retainers  of  the  place,  except 
what  may  be  called  the  peaceful  and  familiar  servants  of  the 
household. 

Through  the  thick-vaulted  roofs  of  stone,  which  rendered 
every  story  of  the  keep  a  separate  fortress,  no  sound  of  arms, 
of  revelry  or  riot,  could  ascend  to  the  region  of  the  ladies ; 
and  if  their  comforts  were  inferior  to  those  of  our  modern 
beauties,  their  magnificence,  their  splendor  of  costume,  of 
equipage,  of  followings,  their  power  at  home,  and  their  influ 
ence  abroad,  where  they  shone  as  "  Queens  of  Love  and  Beau- 


96  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

ty,"  were  held  the  arbiters  of  fame  and  dispensers  of  honor, 
where  their  smiles  were  held  sufficient  guerdon  for  all  wildest 
feats  of  bravery,  their  tears  expiable  by  blood  only,  their  im 
portance  in  the  outer  world  of  arms,  of  romance,  of  empire, 
were  at  the  least  as  far  superior ;  and  it  may  be  doubted, 
whether  some,  even  the  most  spoiled  of  our  modem  fair  ones, 
would  not  sigh  to  exchange,  with  the  dames  and  demoiselles 
of  the  twelfth  century,  their  own  soft  empire  of  the  ball-room 
for  the  right  to  hold  Courts  of  Love,  as  absolute  unquestioned 
sovereigns,  to  preside  at  tilt  and  tournament,  and  send  the 
noblest  and  the  most  superb  of  champions  into  mortal  com 
bat,  or  yet  more  desperate  adventure,  by  the  mere  promise  of 
a  sleeve,  a  kerchief,  or  a  glove. 

She,  however,  who  now  occupied  alone  the  Lady's  Bower 
of  Waltheofstow  was  none  of  your  proud  and  court-hardened 
ladies,  who  could  look  with  no  emotion  beyond  a  blush  of 
gratified  vanity  on  the  blood  of  an  admirer  or  a  lover.  Though 
for  her,  young  as  she  was,  steeds  had  been  spurred  to  the 
shock,  and  her  name  shouted  among  the  splintering  of  lances 
and  the  crash  of  mortal  conflict,  she  was  still  but  a  simple, 
amiable,  and  joyous  child,  who  knew  more  of  the  pleasant  fields 
and  waving  woodlands  of  her  fair  lake-country,  than  of  the  tilt- 
yard,  the  court  pageant,  or  the  carousal,  and  who  better  loved  to 
see  the  heather-blossom  and  the  blue-bell  dance  in  the  free  air 
of  the  breezy  fells,  than  plumes  and  banners  flaunt  and  flutter 
to  the  blare  of  trumpets. 

The  only  child  of  Sir  Yvo  do  Taillebois,  a  knight  and  noble 
of  the  unmixed  Norman  blood,  a  lineal  descendant  of  one  of 
those  hardy  barons  who,  landing  with  Duke  William  on  his 
almost  desperate  emprise,  had  won  "the  bloody  hand"  at 


GUENDOLEN'S   BOWER.  97 

Hastings,  and  gained  rich  lands  in  the  northern  counties 
during  the  protracted  struggle  which  ensued,  the  Lady  Guen- 
dolen  had  early  lost  her  mother,  a  daughter  of  the  noble 
house  of  Morville,  and  not  a  very  distant  relative  of  the  good 
knight,  Sir  Philip,  whose  hospitality  she  was  now  partaking 
with  her  father. 

To  a  girl,  for  the  most  part,  the  loss  of  a  mother,  before 
she  has  reached  the  years  of  discretion,  is  one  never  to  be  re 
paired,  more  especially  where  the  surviving  parent  is  so  much 
occupied  with  duties,  martial  or  civil,  as  to  render  his  super 
vision  of  her  bringing-up  impossible.  It  is  true  that,  in  the 
age  of  which  I  write,  the  accomplishments  possessed  by  the 
most  delicate  and  refined  of  ladies  were  few  and  slight,  as 

O  7 

compared  to  those  now  so  sedulously  inculcated  to  our  maid 
ens,  so  regularly  abandoned  by  our  matrons ;  and  that,  at  a 
period  later  by  several  centuries,  he  who  has  been  styled,  by 
an  elegant  writer,*  the  last  of  the  Norman  barons,  great  War 
wick  the  Kingmaker,  held  it  a  boast  that  his  daughters  pos 
sessed  no  arts,  no.  knowledge,  more  than  to  spin  and  to  bo 
chaste. 

Yet  even  this  small  list  of  feminine  attainments  was  far 
beyond  the  teaching  of  the  illiterate  and  warlike  barons,  who 
knew  nought  of  the  pen,  save  when  it  winged  the  gray-goose 
shaft  from  the  trusty  yew,  and  whose  appropriate  and  ordinary 
signatures  were  the  impress  of  their  sword-hilts  on  the  parch 
ments,  which  they  did  not  so  much  as  pretend  to  read ;  and, 
in  truth,  the  Kingmaker's  statement  must  either  be  regarded 
as  an  exaggeration,  or  the  standard  of  female  accomplishment 
had  degenerated,  as  is  not  unlikely  to  have  been  actually  the 
*  Sir  E.  Lvtton  Bulwer. 


98  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

case,  during  the  cruel  and  devastating  wars  of  the  Roses, 
which,  how  little  soever  they  may  have  affected  the  moral, 
political,  or  agricultural  condition  of  the  English  people  at 
large,  had  unquestionably  dealt  a  blow  to  the  refinement,  the 
courtesy,  the  mental  culture,  and  personal  polish  of  the  Eng 
lish  aristocracy,  from  which  they  began  only  to  recover  in  the 
reigns  of  the  later  Tudors. 

But  in  the  case  of  the  fair  Guendolen,  neither  did  the  loss 
of  her  mother  deprive  her  of  the  advantages  of  her  birth,  nor 
would  the  incapacity  of  her  father,  had  the  occasion  been 
allowed  him  of  superintending  the  culture  of  his  child,  have 
done  so  ;  for  he  was — at  that  day  rarer  in  England  than  was 
a  wolf,  though  literary  culture  had  received  some  impulse 
from  the  present  monarch,  and  his  yet  more  accomplished 
-  ^^^i  father,  Beauclerc — a  man  of  intellectual  ability,  and  not  a 
little  cultivation. 

He  had  Been  largely  employed  by  both  princes  on  the  con 
tinent,  in  diplomatic  as  well  as  military  capacities ;  had  visited 
Provence,  the  court  of  poetry  and  minstrelsy,  and  the  gal 
science;  had  dwelt  in  the  Norman  courts  of  Italy,  and  even 
in  Rome  herself,  then  the  seat  of  all  the  rising  schools 
of  literature,  art,  and  science ;  and  while  acquiring,  almost  of 
necessity,  the  tongues  of  southern  Europe,  had  both  softened 
and  enlarged  his  mind  by  not  a  few  of  their  acquirements. 
Of  this  advantage,  however,  it  was  only  of  late  years,  when 
she  was  bursting  into  the  fairest  dawn  of  adolescence,  that 
she  had  been  permitted  to  profit ;  for,  between  her  fifth  and 
her  fifteenth  years,  she  had  seen  but  little  of  her  father,  who, 
constantly  employed,  either  as  a  statesman  at  home,  an  embas- 
eador  abroad,  or  a  conquering  invader  of  the  wild  Welsh 


GUENDOL  EN'S    BOWER.  99 

marches,  or  the  wilder  and  more  barbarous  shores  of  Ireland, 
had  rarely  been  permitted  to  call  a  day  his  own,  much  less  to 
devote  himself  to  those  home  duties  and  pleasures  for  which 
he  was,  beyond  doubt,  more  than  ordinarily  qualified. 

Yet,  however  unfortunate  she  might  have  been  in  this  par 
ticular,  she  had  been  as  happy  in  other  respects,  and  had  been 
brought  up  under  circumstances  which  had  produced  no  bet 
ter  consequences  on  her  head  than  on  her  heart,  on  the  graces 
of  her  mind  and  body,  than  on  the  formation  of  her  feminine 
and  gentle  character. 


CHAPTER    IX. 

GUENDOLEN. 

"The  s\vcetcst  lady  of  the  tiuie,— 
Well  worthy  of  the  golden  prime 
Of  good  llaroun  Alraschid." 

ALFRED  TENNYSON. 

A  SISTER  of  Guendoleu's  departed  mother,  Abbess  of  St. 
Hilda,  a  woman  of  unusual  intellect,  and  judgment,  character 
and  feelings,  in  no  degree  inferior  to  her  talents,  had  taken 
charge  of  her  orphan  niece  immediately  after  the  mother's 
death,  and  had  brought  her  up,  a  flower  literally  untouched 
by  the  sun  as  by  the  storms  of  the  world,  in  the  serene  and 
trancfuil  life  of  the  cloister,  when  the  cloister  was  indeed  the 
seat  of  piety,  and  purity,  and  peace ;  in  some  cases  the  only 
refuge  from  the  violence  and  savage  lusts  of  those  rugged 
days ;  never  then  the  abode,  at  least  in  England,  of  morose 
bigotry  or  fierce  fanaticism,  but  the  home  of  quiet  contem 
plation,  of  meek  virtue,  and  peaceful  cheerfulness. 

The  monasteries  and  priories  of  those  days  were  not  the  sul 
len  gaols  of  the  soul,  the  hives  of  drones,  or  the  schools  of 
ignorance  and  bitter  sectarian  persecution  which  they  have 
become  in  these  latter  days,  nor  were  their  inmates  then 
immured  as  the  tenants  of  the  dungeon  cell. 

The   abbey  lands  were   ever  the  best  tilled;  the   abbey 


GUENDOLEN.  101 

tenants  ever  the  happiest,  the  best  clad,  the  richest,  and  the 
freest  of  the  peasantry  of  England.  The  monks,  those  of 
Saxon  race  especially,  were  the  country  curates  of  the  twelfth 
century  ;  it  was  they  who  fed  the  hungry,  who  medicined  the 
sick,  who  consoled  the  sad  at  heart,  who  supported  the 
widow  and  the  fatherless,  who  supported  the  oppressed,  and 
smoothed  the  passage  through  the  dark  portals  to  the  dying 
Christian.-  There  were  no  poor  laws  in  those  days,  nor  alms- 
houses  ;  the  open  gates  and  liberal  doles  of  the  old  English 
abbeys  bestowed  unstinted  and  ungrudging  charity  on  all  who 
claimed  it.  The  abbot  on  his  soft-paced  palfrey,  or  the  prior 
ess  on  her  well-trained  jennet,  as  they  made  their  progresses 
through  the  green  fields  and  humble  hamlets  of  their  depend 
ants,  were  hailed  ever  with  deferential  joy. and  affectionate 
reverence ;  and  the  serf,  who  would  lout  sullenly  before  the 
haughty  brow  of  his  military  chief,  and  scowl  savagely  with 
hand  on  the  dudgeon  hilt  after  he  had  ridden  past,  would  run  a 
mile  to  remove  a  fallen  trunk  from  the  path  of  the  jolly  prior, 
or  three,  to  guide  the  jennet  of  the  mild-eyed  lady  abbess 
through  the  difficult  ford,  or  over  the  bad  bit  of  the  road, 
and  think  himself  richly  paid  by  a  benediction. 

In  such  a  tranquil  tenor  had  been  passed  the  early  years 
of  the  beautiful  young  Guendolen ;  and  while  she  learned 
every  accomplishment  of  the  day — for  in  those  days  the  nun 
neries  were  the  schools  of  all  that  was  delicate,  and  refined, 
and  gentle,  the  schools  of  the  softer  arts,  especially  of  music 
and  illumination,  as  were  the  monasteries  the  shrines  which 
alone  kept  alive  the  fire  of  science,  and  nursed  the  lamp  of 
letters,  undying  through  those  dark  and  dreary  ages — she 
learned  also  to  be  humble-minded,  no  less  than  holy-hearted, 


102  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

to  be  compassionate,  and  kind,  and  sentient  of  others'  sor 
rows  ;  she  learned,  above  all  things,  that  meekness  and 
modesty,  and  a  gentle  bearing  toward  the  lowliest  of  her  fel 
low-beings,  were  the  choicest  ornaments  to  a  maiden  of  the 
loftiest  birth. 

Herself  a  Norman  of  the  purest  Norman  strain,  descended 
from  those  of  whom,  if  not  kings  themselves,  kings  were  de 
scended,  who  claimed  to  be  the  peers  of  the  monarchs  to 
whom  their  own  good  swords  gave  royalty,  she  had  never  im 
bibed  one  idea  of  scorn  for  the  conquered,  the  debased,  the 
downfallen  Saxon. 

The  kindest,  the  gentlest,  the  sagest,  and  at  the  same  time 
the  most  refined  and  polished  of  all  her  preceptors,  her 
spiritual  pastor  also,  and  confessor,  was  an  old  Saxon  monk, 
originally  from  the  convent  of  Burton  on  the  Trent,  who  had 
migrated  northward,  and  pitched  the  tent  of  his  declining 
years  in  a  hermitage  situate  in  the  glade  of  a  deep  Northum 
brian  wood,  not  far  removed  from  the  priory  over  which  her 
aunt  presided  with  so  much  dignity  and  grace. 

He  had  been  a  pilgrim,  a  prisoner  in  the  Holy  Land,  had 
visited  the  wild  monasteries  of  Lebanon  and  Athos ;  he  had 
seen  the  pyramids  "piercing  the  deep  Egyptian  sky,"  had 
mused  under  the  broken  arches  of  the  Coliseum,  and  listened, 
like  the  great  historian  of  Rome,  to  the  bare-footed  friars 
chanting  their  hymns  among  the  ruins  of  Jupiter  Capitoline. 

Like  Ulysses,  he  had  seen  the  lands,  he  had  studied  the 
manners,  and  learned  to  speak  the  tongues,  of  many  men  and 
nations ;  nor,  while  he  had  learned  in  the  east  strange  mys 
teries  of  science,  though  ho  had  solved  the  secrets  of  chem 
istry,  and  learned,  long  before  the  birth  of  "  starry  Galileo," 


GUENDOLEN.  103 

to  know  the  stars  with  their  uprisings  and  their  settings; 
though  he  knew  the  nature,  the  properties,  the  secret  virtues, 
and  the  name  of  every  floweret  of  the  forest,  of  every  ore  of 
the  swart  mine,  Jie  had  not  neglected  the  gentler  culture, 
which  wreathes  so  graciously  the  wrinkled  brow  of  wisdom. 
Not  a  poet  himself,  so  far  as  the  weaving  the  mysterious 
chains  of  rhythm,  he  was  a  genuine  poet  of  the  heart.  Not  a 
blush,  not  a  smile,  not  a  tear,  not  a  frown  on  the  lovely  face 
of  nature,  but  awakened  a  response  in  his  large  and  sympa 
thetic  soul ;  not  an  emotion  of  the  human  heart,  from  the 
best  to  the  basest,  but  struck  within  him  some  chord  of  deep 
and  hidden  feeling ;  to  read  an  act  of  self-devoted  courage,  of 
charity,  of  generosity,  of  self-denial,  would  make  his  flesh 
quiver,  his  hair  rise,  his  cheek  burn.  To  hear  of  great  deeds 
would  stir  him  as  with  the  blast  of  a  war  trumpet.  He  was 
one,  in  fact,  of  those  gifted  beings  who  could  discern 

"  Music  in  running  brooks, 
.    Sermons  in  stones,  and  good  in  every  thing ;" 

and  as  he  felt  himself,  so  had  he  taught  her  to  feel ;  and  of 
what  he  knew  himself,  much  he  had  taught  her  to  know 
likewise. 

Seeing,  hearing,  knowing  him  to  be  what  he  was,  and,  as 
is  the  wont  ever  with  young  and  ingenuous  minds,  imagining 
him  to  be  something  far  wiser,  greater,  and  better  than  he 
really  was,  she  was  content  at  first,  while  other  men  were  yet 
unknown  to  her,  to  hold  him  something  almost  supernaturally, 
ineffably  beneficent  and  wise ;  and  this  incomparable  being  she 
knew  also  to  be  a  Saxon.  She  saw  her  aunt,  who,  gentle  as 
she  was,  and  gracious,  had  yet  a  touch  of  the  old  Norse  pride 


104  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

of  blood,  untutored  by  the  teachings  of  religion,  and  untamed 
by  the  discipline  of  the  church,  bow  submissively  to  his  ad 
vice,  defer  respectfully  to  his  opinion,  hang  persuaded  on  his 
eloquence — and  yet  he  was  a  Saxon. 

When  she  burst  from  girlhood  into  womanhood — when  her 
father,  returned  from  the  honors  and  the  toils  of  foreign  serv 
ice,  introduced  her  into  the  grand  scenes  of  gorgeous  chiv 
alry  and  royal  courtesy,  preparatory  to  placing  her  at  the 
head  of  his  house — though  she  mingled  with  the  paladins  and 
peers  of  Normandy  and  Norman  England,  she  saw  not  one 
who  could  compare  in  wisdom,  in  eloquence,  in  all  that  is 
highest  and  most  heaven-reaching  in  the  human  mind,  with 
the  old  Saxon,  Father  Basil. 

How  then  could  she  look  upon  the  race  from  which  he 
sprang  as  inferior — as  low  and  degraded  by  the  hand  of  na 
ture — when  not  the  sagest  statesman,  the  most  royal  prince, 
the  proudest  chevalier,  the  gentlest  troubadour,  could  vie  with 
him  in  one  point  of  intellect  or  of  refinement — with  him,  the 
Saxon  priest,  son  himself,  as  he  himself  had  told  her,  of  a 
Saxon  serf. 

These  were  the  antecedents,  this  the  character  of  the  beau 
tiful  giii,  who,  on  the  morning  following  her  adventure  in  the 
forest,  lay,  supported  by  a  pile  of  cushions,  on  one  of  the  broad 
couches  in  the  Lady's  Bower  of  Waltheofstow,  inhaling  the 
fresh  perfumed  breath  of  the  western  air,  as  it  swept  in,  over 
the  shrubs  and  flowers  in  the  bartizan,  through  the  window 
of  the  turret  chamber.  She  was  beautiful  as  ever,  but  very 
pale,  and  still  suffering,  as  it  would  seem,  from  the  effects  of 
her  full  and  the  injuries  she  had  received  in  the  struggle  with 
the  terrible  wild  beast ;  for,  whenever  she  attempted  to  move 


GUENDOLEN.  105 

or  to  turn  her  body,  an  expression  of  pain  passed  for  a  moment 
across  the  pure,  fair  face,  and  once  a  slight  murmur  escaped 
from  her  closed  lips. 

'  One  or  two  waiting-maids,  of  Norman  race,  attended  by  the 
side  of  her  couch,  one  of  them  cooling  her  brow  with  a  fan 
of  peacock's  feathers,  the  other  sprinkling  perfumes  through 
the  chamber,  and  now  and  again  striving  to  amuse  her  by 
reading  aloud  from  a  ponderous  illuminated  tome,  larger  than 
a  modern  cyclopedia,  the  interminable  adventures  and  suffer 
ings  of  that  true  love,  whose  "  course  never  did  run  smooth," 
and  feats  of  knightly  prowess,  recorded  in  one  of  the  inter 
minable  romances  of  the  time.  But  to  none  of  these  did  the 
Lady  Guendolen  seriously  incline  her  ear;  and  the  faces  of  the 
attendant  girls  began  to  wear  an  expression,  not  of  weariness 
only,  but  of  discontent,  and,  perhaps,  even  of  a  deeper  and 
bitterer  feeling. 

The  Lady  Guendolen  was  ill  at  ease  ;  she  was,  most  rare 
occurrence  for  one  of  her  soft  though  impulsive  disposition, 
impatient,  perhaps  querulous. 

She  could  not  be  amused  by  any  of  their  efforts.  Her 
mind  was  far  away  ;  she  craved  something  which  they  could 
not  give,  and  was  restless  at  their  inability.  Three  times  since 
her  awakening,  though  the  hour  was  still  early,  she  had  in 
quired  for  Sir  Yvo,  and  had  sent  to  desire  his  presence.  The 
first  time,  her  messengers  brought  her  back  word  that  he  had 
not  yet  arisen  ;  the  second,  that  he  was  breakfasting,  but  now, 
in  the  knight's  hall  with  Sir  Philip,  and  the  Sieurs  of  Mal- 
travers,  De  Vesey,  and  Mauleverer,  who  had  ridden  over  to 
Waltheofstow  to  fly  their  hawks,  and  that  he  would  be  with 
her  ere  long ;  and  the  third,  that  the  good  knight  must  have 

K* 


106  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

forgotten,  for  that  lie  had  taken  horse  and  ridden  away  with 
the  rest  of  the  company  into  the  meadows  by  the  banks  of 
brimful  Idle,  to  enjoy  the  "  Mystery  of  Rivers,"  as  it  was  the 
fashion  to  term  the  sport  of  falconry,  in  the  high-flown  lan 
guage  of  the  chase. 

For  a  moment  her  pale  face  flushed,  her  eye  flashed,  and 
she  bit  her  lip,  and  drummed  impatiently  with  her  little 
fingers  on  the  velvet-pillows  which  supported  her  aching  head ; 
then,  smiling  at  her  own  momentary  ill-humor,  she  bade  her 
girl  Marguerite  go  seek  the  Saxon  maiden,  Edith,  if  she  were 
in  the  castle,  and  if  not,  to  see  that  a  message  should  be  sent 
down  for  her  to  the  serfs'  quarter. 

With  many  a  toss  of  her  pretty  head,  and  many  a  way 
ward  feminine  expression  of  annoyance,  which  from  ruder  lips 
would  probably  have  taken  the  shape  of  an  imprecation,  the 
injured  damsel  betook  herself,  through  winding  passages  and 
stairways  in  the  thickness  of  the  wall,  to  the  pages'  waiting- 
chamber  on  the  next  floor  below.-*  Then  tripping,  with  a  de 
mure  look,  into  the  square  vaulted  room,  in  which  were 
lounging  three  gayly-dressed,  long-haired  boys,  one  twanging 
a  guitar  in  the  embrasure  of  the  window,  and  the  other  two 
playing  at  tables  on  a  board  covered- with  a  scarlet  cloth — 

"  Here,  Damian,"  she  said,  somewhat  sharply,  for  the  tem 
per  of  the  mistress  is  sure  to  be  reflected  in  that  of  the  maid, 
losing  nothing  by  the  transmission,  "  for  what  are  you  loitering 
there,  with  that  old  tuneless  gittern,  when  the  Lady  Guendolen 
lias  been  calling  for  you  this  hour  past  2" 

"  And  how,  in  the  name  of  St.  Hubert,"  replied  the  boy, 
who  had  rather  been  out  with  the  falconers  on  the  breezy  leas, 
than  mewed  in  the  hall  to  await  a  lady's  pleasure — "  how,  in 


GUENDOLEN.  107 

the  name  of  St.  Hubert !  should  I  know  that  the  Lady  Guen- 
dolen  had  called  for  me,  when  no  one  has  been  near  this  old 
den  since  Sir  Yvo  rode  forth  on  brown  Roncesval,  with  Dia 
mond  on  his  fist  ?  And  as  for  my  gittern  being  tuneless,  I  've 
heard  you  tell  a  different  tale,  pretty  Mistress  Marguerite. 
But  let  us  have  your  message,  if  you  Ve  got  one  ;  for  I  see 
you  Ve  as  fidgety  as  a  thorough-bred  sorrel  filly,  and  as  hot- 
tempered,  too." 

"  Sorrel  filly,  indeed !"  said  the  girl,  half-laughing,  half- 
indignant.  "  I  wish  you  could  see  my  lady,  Damian,  if  you 
call  me  fidgety  and  hot-tempered.  I  wish  you  could  see  my 
lady,  that 's  just  all,  this  morning." 

"  The  message,  the  message,  Margueiite,  if  there  be  one,  or 
if  you  have  aught  in  your  head  but  to  make  mischief." 

"Why,  I  do  believe  my  lady's  bewitched  since  her  fall; 
for  nothing  will  go  down  with  her  now-a-days  but  that  pink- 
and-white,  flaxen-haired  doll,  Edith.  I  can't  think  what  she 
sees  in  her,  that  she  muskneeds  ever  have  the  clumsy  Saxon 
wench  about  her.  I  should  think  gentle  Norman  blood  might 
serve  her  turn." 

"  I  don't  know,  Marguerite,"  answered  the  boy,  wishing  to 
tease  her ;  "  Edith  is  a  very  pretty  girl,  indeed  ;  I  don't  know 
but  she 's  the  very  prettiest  I  ever  saw.  Dark-haired  and 
dark-eyed  people  always  admire  their  opposites,  they  say ; 
and  for  my  part,  I  think  her  blue  eyes  glance  as  if  they  re 
flected  heaven's  own  light  in  them  ;  and  her  flaxen-hair  looks 
like  a  cloud  high  up  in  heaven,  that  has  just  caught  the  first 
golden  glitter  of  the  morning  sunbeams.  And  clumsy  !  how 
can  you  call  her  clumsy,  Marguerite  ?  I  am  sure,  when  she 
came  flitting  down  the  hill,  with  her  long  locks  flowing  in 


108  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

the  breeze,  and  her  thin  garments  streaming  back  from  her 
shapely  figure,  she  looked  liker  to  a  creature  of  the  air,  than 
to  a  mere  mortal  girl,  running  down  a  sandy  road.  I  should 
like  to  see  you  run  like  her,  Mistress  Marguerite." 

"  Me  run !"  exclaimed  the  Norman  damsel,  indignantly ; 
"  when  ever  did  you  see  a  Norman  lady  run  ?  But  you  're 
just  like  the  rest  of  them  ;  caught  ever  by  the  first  fresh  face. 
Well,  sir,  since  you  're  so  bewitched,  like  my  pretty  lady  above 
stairs,  with  your  Saxon  angel,  the  message  I  have  brought  you 
will  just  meet  your  humor.  You  will  see,  sir,  if  this  Saxon 
angel  be  in  the  castle,  sir  ;  and  if  she  be  not,  sir,  your  mag 
nificence  will  proceed  to  the  Saxon  quarter,  and  request  her 
angelship  to  come  forthwith  to  my  lady's  chamber,  and  to 
come  quickly,  too.  And  you  can  escort  her,  Sir  Page,  and 
lend  her  your  hand  up  the  hill ;  and  steal  a  kiss,  if  you  can, 
Sir  Page,  on  the  way  !" 

"Just  so,  Mistress  Marguerite,"  returned  the  boy,  "just  so. 
Your  commands  shall  be  obeyed  to  the  letter.  And  as  to 
the  kiss,  1 11  try,  if  I  can  get  a  chance  ;  but  I  'm  afraid  she 's 
too  modest  to  kiss  young  men." 

And,  taking  up  his  dirk  and  bonnet  from  the  board,  he 
darted  out  of  the  room,  without  awaiting  her  reply,  having 
succeeded,  to  his  heart's  content,  in  chafing  her  to  somewhat 
higher  than  blood-heat ;  so  that  she  returned  to  her  lady's 
bower  even  more  discomposed  than  when  she  left  it;  but 
Guendolen  was  too  much  occupied  with  other  thoughts  to 
notice  the  girl's  ill-temper,  and  within  half  an  hour  a  light 
foot  was  heard  at  the  door,  and  the  Saxon  slave  girl 
entered. 

"  How  can  I  serve  you,  dear  lady  ?"  she  said,  coming  up, 


GUENDOLEN.  109 

and  kneeling  at  the  couch  side.  "  You  are  very  pale.  I  trust 
you  be  not  the  worse  this  morning." 

"  Very  weak,  Edith,  and  sore  all  over.  I  feel  as  if  every 
limb  were  broken ;  and  I  want  you,  with  your  gentle  hand 
and  gentle  voice,  to  soothe  me." 

"  Ah  !  dearest  lady,  our  Holy  Mother  send  that  your  spirit 
never  may  be  so  sore  as  to  take  no  heed  of  the  body's  aching, 
nor  your  heart  so  broken  as  to  know  not  whether  your  limbs 
were  torn  asunder." 


CHAPTER    X. 


THE      LADY      AND     THE      SLAYS. 


"  "Weep  not  for  him  that  dicth, 

For  his  struggling  soul  is  free, 
And  the  world  from  which  it  flieth 

Is  a  world  of  misery ; 
But  weep  for  him  that  wcareth 

The  collar  and  the  chain  ; 
To  the  agony  he  beareth, 
Death  were  but  little  pain.*' 

CAROLINE  NORTON. 


"  WHAT  mean  you,  Edith  ?"  inquired  the  girl,  raising  her 
self  from  her  pillow,  as  her  attention  was  called  to  the  unusu 
ally  subdued  tones  of  the  Saxon  maiden,  who  was,  in  her 
ordinary  mood,  so  gay  and  joyous,  and  who  appeared  to  be 
the  general  favorite  of  all  around  her ;  "  what  mean  you, 
Edith  ?"  she  repeated ;  "  you  can  not  be  speaking  of  yourself ; 
you,  who  are  ever  blithesome  and  light-hearted  as  the  bee  on 
the  blossom,  or  the  bird  on  the  bough.  You  can  have  no 
sorrows  of  the  heart,  I  think,  so  penetrating  as  to  make  all 
outward  bodily  pains  forgotten,  and  yet — you  are  pale,  you 
are  weeping  ?  Tell  me,  girl — tell  me,  dear  Edith,  and  let  me 
be  your  friend." 

"  Friend  !  lady,"  said  the  girl,  looking  at  her  wistfully,  yet 
doubtfully  withal ;  "  you  my  friend,  noble  lady !  That  were 


THE  LADY  AND  THE  SLAVE.         Ill 

indeed  impossible.  I  will  not  say,  that  to  the  poor,  to  the 
Saxon,  to  the  slave,  there  can  be  no  friend,  under  heaven ;  but 
that  you — you,  a  noble  and  a  Norman  !  Alas  !  alas !  that 
were  indeed  impossible !" 

"  Impossible  !"  cried  Guendolen,  eagerly,  forgetting  her  ail 
ments  in  her  fine  and  feeling  excitement.  "  Wherefore,  how 
should  it  be  impossible  ?  One  God  made  us  both,  Edith ; 
and  made  us  both  out  of  one  clay,  with  one  life  here  on  earth, 
and  one  hereafter ;  both  children  of  one  fallen  race,  and  heirs 
of  one  promise  ;  both  daughters  of  one  fair,  free  land  ;  both 
Englishwomen — then  why  not  friends,  Edith,  and  sisters  ?" 

"  Of  one  land,  lady,  it  is  true,"  said  the  girl,  gently.  "  Yes ! 
daughters  of  one  fair  land,  for  even  to  the  slave  England  is 
very  beautiful  and  dear,  even  as  to  you  she  is  free.  But  for 
us,  who  were  once  her  first-born  and  her  favorites,  that  magic 
word  has  passed  away,  that  charm  has  ceased,  forever.  For 
us,  in  free  England's  wide-rejoicing  acres,  there  is  no  spot 
free,  save  the  six  feet  of  earth  that  shall  receive  our  bodies, 
when  the  soul  shall  be  a  slave's  no  longer.  Lady,  lady,  alas  ! 
noble  lady,  if  one  God  made  us  both  of  one  clay,  that  shall 
go  downward  to  mingle  with  the  common  sod,  and  of  one  spirit 
that  shall  mount  upward,  when  the  weariness  and  woe  shall  be 
at  an  end  forever,  man  has  set  a  great  gulf  between  us,  that 
we  can  not  pass  over  it  at  all,  to  come  the  one  unto  the  other. 
Our  wants  may  be  the  same,  while  we  are  here  below,  and 
our  hopes  may  be  the  same  heavenward ;  but  there  all  same 
ness  ends  between  us.  My  joys  can  not  be  your  joys,  and 
God  forbid  that  my  sorrows  should  be  yours,  either.  Our 
hearts  may  not  feel,  our  heads  may  not  think,  in  unison,  even 
if  our  flesh  be  of  one  texture,  and  our  souls  of  one  spirit. 


112  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

You  are  good,  and  gentle,  and  kind,  lady,  but  you  may  never 
understand  what  it  is  to  be  such  as  I." 

She  ceased,  but  she  ceased  weeping  also,  and  seemed  lost  in 
deep  thought,  and  almost  forgetful  of  herself  and  her  sur 
roundings,  as  she  remained  on  her  knees  by  the  bedside  of 
Guendolen,  with  her  head  drooping  from  her  fair  bended 
neck,  and  her  embrowned  but  shapely  hands  folded  in  her  lap. 

The  lady  looked  at  her  silently  for  a  few  moments,  partly 
in  sympathy,  partly,  it  must  be  said,  in  wonder.  New  ideas 
were  beginning  to  be  awakened  in  her  mind,  and  a  perception 
of  something,  which  had  never  before  dawned  upon  her,  be 
came  palpable  and  strong. 

That  which  we  behold,  and  have  beheld  daily  perhaps  for 
years,  naturally  becomes  so  usual  and  customary  in  our  eyes, 
that  we  cease  to  regard  it  as  any  thing  but  as  a  fact,  of  which 
we  have  never  seen  and  scarcely  can  conceive  any  thing  to  the 
contrary — that  we  look  at  it  as  a  part  of  that  system  which 
we  call  nature,  and  of  which  we  never  question  the  right  or 
the  wrong,  the  injustice  or  the  justice,  but,  knowing  that  it  is, 
never  think  of  inquiring  wherefore  it  is,  and  whether  it  ought 
to  be. 

Thus  it  was  with  Guendolen  de  Taillebois.  She  had  been 
accustomed,  during  all  her  life,  to  see  Saxons  as  serfs,  and 
rarely  in  any  other  capacity ;  for  the  franklins  and  thanes 
who  had  retained  their  independence,  their  freedom,  and  a 
portion  of  their  ancestral  acres,  were  few  in  numbers,  and 
held  but  little  intercourse  with  their  Norman  neighbors, 
being  regarded  by  them  as  rude  and  semi-barbarous  inferiors, 
while  they,  in  turn,  regarded  them  as  cruel  and  insolent  usurp 
ers  and  oppressors. 


THE  LADY  AND  THE  SLAVE.          113 

She  had  seen  these  serfs,  rudely  attired  indeed,  and  em 
ployed  in  rugged,  laborious,  and  menial  occupations ;  but, 
then,  it  was  clear  that  their  boorish  demeanor,  stolid  expres 
sion,  and  apparent  lack  of  capacity  or  intelligence  for  any  su 
perior  employment,  seemed  to  indicate  them  as  persons  filling 
the  station  in  society  for  -which  nature  had  adapted  them. 
Well-clad,  sufficiently  clothed,  warmly  lodged — in  all  outward 
things  perhaps  equal,  if  not  superior,  to  the  peasantry  of  most 
European  countries  in  the  present  day — never,  except  in  ex 
treme  and  exceptional  cases,  cruelly  or  severely  treated,  since 
it  was  ever  the  owner's  interest  to  regard  the  well-doing  of  his 
serfs,  it  had  never  occurred  to  her  that  the  whole  race  was  in 
itself,  from  innate  circumstances,  and  apart  from  extraordinary 
sorrows  or  sufferings,  hopeless,  miserable,  and  conscious  of 
unmerited  but  irretrievable  degradation. 

Had  she  considered  the  subject,  she  would  of  course  have 
perceived  and  admitted  that  sick  or  in  health,  sorrowful  or  at 
ease,  to  be  compelled  to  toil  on,  toil  on,  day  after  day,  wearily, 
at  the  bidding  and  for  the  benefit  of  another,  deriving  no  bene 
fit  from  that  toil  beyond  a  mere  subsistence,  was  an  unhappy 
and  forlorn  condition.  Yet,  how  many  did  she  not  see  of  her 
own  conquering  countrymen  of  the  lower  orders,  small  land 
holders  in  the  country,  small  artisans  and  mechanics  in  the 
boroughs,-  reduced  to  the  same  labors,  and  nearly  to  the  same 
necessity. 

With  the  personal  condition  or  habits  of  the  serfs,  the  ladies 
and  even  the  lords  of  the  great  Norman  families  had  little  ac 
quaintance,  little  means  even  of  becoming  acquainted.  The 
services  of  their  fortalices,  all  but  those  menial  and  sordid 
offices  of  which  those  exalted  persons  had  no  cognizance,  were 


114  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

discharged  by  domestics,  higher  or  lower  in  grade,  the  highes* 
being  of  gentle  blood,  and,  in  very  noble  houses,  even  of  noble 
blood,  of  their  own  proud  race;  and  the  Saxons,  whether 
bond-servants  of  the  soil,  or,  what  was  of  rare  occurrence  at 
that  time,  free  tenants  on  man  service,  were  employed  in  the 
fields  or  in  the  forest,  under  the  bailiff  or  overseer,  who  ruled 
them  at  his  own  discretion,  and  punished  them,  if  punishment 
wrere  needed,  with  the  stocks,  the  gyves,  or  the  scourge,  with 
out  consulting  the  lord,  and  of  course  without  so  much  as  the 
knowledge  of  the  lady. 

Even  if,  by  hazard,  it  did  reach  the  dainty  ears  of  some  fair 
chatelaine,  that  Osrick  or  Edmund  had  undergone  the  lash  for 
some  misdoing  or  short-coming,  she  heard  of  it  much  as  a 
modern  lady  would  read  of  the  committal  of  a  pickpocket  or 
drunkard  to  the  treadmill,  or  of  a  vagrant  hussy  to  pick  hemp ; 
wondering  why  those  low  creatures  would  do  such  wicked 
things,  and  sorrowfully  musing  why  such  punishments  should 
be  necessary — never  suspecting  the  injustice  of  the  law,  or 
doubting  the  necessity  of  the  punishment. 

And  eminently  thus  it  was  with  Guendolen.  While  in  her 
good  aunt's  priory,  she  had  ever  seen  the  seifs  of  the  church 
well  looked  after,  well  doing,  not  overworked,  not  oppressed, 
cared  for  if  sick,  comforted  if  sorrowing,  well  tended  in  age,  a 
contented  if  not  a  happy  race,  so  far  as  externals  only  were 
regarded,  and  nothing  hitherto  had  led  her  to  look  farther 
than  to  externals.  On  her  father's  princely  barony  she  saw 
even  less  of  them  than  she  had  been  accustomed  to  do  at  the 
priory,  passing  them  casually  only  when  in  the  fields  at  hay 
making  or  harvest  work,  or  pausing  perhaps  to  observe  a  rosy- 
cheeked  child  in  the  Saxon  quarter,  or  to  notice  a  cherry- 


THE  LADY  AND  THE  SLAVE.          115 

lipped  maiden  by  the  village  well.  But  here,  too,  so  far  as 
she  did  see,  she  saw  them  neither  squalid  nor  starved,  neither 
miserable  nor  maltreated.  No  acts  of  tyranny  or  cruelty 
reached  her  ears,  perhaps  none  happened  which  should  reach 
them ;  and  of  the  rigorous,  oppressive,  insolent,  and  cruel  laws 
which  regulated  their  condition,  controlled  their  progress, 
prevented  their  rise  in  the  social  scale,  fettered  and  cramped 
their  domestic  relations,  she  knew  nothing. 

Since  her  sojourn  at  Waltheofstow,  she  had  gained  more 
personal  acquaintance  with  her  down-trodden  Saxon  country 
men  and  countrywomen,  and  more  especially  since  her  acci 
dent  in  the  forest,  than  in  all  her  previous  life. 

For,  in  the  first  place,  Sir  Philip  de  Morville,  being  unmar 
ried  and  without  female  relations  in  his  family,  had  no 
women  of  Norman  blood  employed  as  attendants  or  do 
mestics  in  the  castle,  the  whole  work  of  which  was  performed 
by  serf  girls  of  various  degrees,  under  the  superintendence  of 
an  emancipated  Saxon  dame,  who  presided  over  what  we 
should  now  call  the  housekeeper's  department.  Of  these 
girls,  Edith,  and  one  or  two  others,  Elgythas,  Berthas,  and 
the  like,  ministered  to  the  Lady's  Bower,  and  having  perhaps 
contracted  something  of  unusual  refinement  and  expression 
from  a  nearer  attendance  on  the  more  courtly  race,  and 
especially  on  the  Norman  ladies  who  at  times  visited  the 
castle,  presented,  it  is  certain,  unusually  favorable  specimens 
of  the  Saxon  peasantry,  and  had  attracted  the  attention  of 
Guendolen  in  a  greater  degree  than  any  Saxons  she  had  pre 
viously  encountered. 

Up  to  that  time,  she  had  regarded  them,  certainly,  on  the 
whole,  as  a  slow,  as  a  somewhat  stolid,  impassive,  and  unim- 


116  SHEUWO  OD     FOREST. 

passioned  race,  less  mercurial  than  lier  own  impetuous, 
impulsive  kindred,  and  far  less  liable  to  strong  emotions  or 
keen  perceptions,  whether  of  pain  or  pleasure.  The  girlish 
liveliness  and  gentleness,  and  even  the  untaught  graces  of 
Edith  had,  at  the  first,  attracted  her ;  and,  as  she  was  thrown 
a  good  deal  into  contact  with  her,  from  the  fact  of  her  con 
stant  attendance  on  the  chambers  she  occupied,  she  had 
become  much  interested  in  her,  regarding  her  as  one  of  the 
happiest,  most  artless,  and  innocent  little  girls  she  had  ever 
met — one,  she  imagined,  on  whom  no  shadow  of  grief  had 
ever  fallen,  and  whose  humble  lot  was  one  of  actual  content 
ment,  if  not  of  positive  enjoyment. 

Nor,  hitherto,  insomuch  as  actual  realities  were  concerned, 
was  Guendolen  much  in  error.  Sir  Philip  de  Morville,  as  has 
been  stated  already,  was,  according  to  the  times  and  their 
tenor,  a  good  and  considerate  lord.  His  bailiff  was  a  well- 
intentioned,  strict  man,  intent  on  having  his  master's  work 
done  to  the  last  straw,  but  beyond  that  neither  an  oppressor 
nor  a  tyrant.  Kenric,  her  distant  kinsman  and  betrothed, 
was  confessedly  the  best  man  and  most  favored  servant  in  the 
quarter ;  and  his  mother,  who  had  grown  old  in  the  service 
of  Sir  Philip's  father,  whom  she  had  nursed  with  simple  skill 
through  the  effects  of  many  a  mimic  battle  in  the  lists, 
or  real  though  scarce  more  dangerous  fray,  now  superannuated, 
reigned  as  much  the  mistress  of  her  son's  hearth  as  though 
she  had  been  a  free  woman,  and  the  cot  in  which  she  dwelt 
her  freehold. 

Edith  herself  was  the  first  bower-maiden  of  the  castle,  and, 
safe  under  the  protecting  wings  of  dame  Ulrica,  the  house 
wife,  defied  the  impertinence  of  forward  pages,  the  importunate 


THE  LADY  AND  THE  SLAVE.          117 

gallantry  of  esquires,  and  was  cheerfully  acknowledged  as  the 
best  and  prettiest  lass  of  the  lot,  by  the  old  gray-haired 
seneschal,  in  his  black  velvet  suit  and  gold  chain  of  office. 

Really,  therefore,  none  of  her  own  immediate  family  had 
known  any  actual  wants,  or  suffered  any  material  hardships 
or  sorrows,  through  their  condition,  up  to  the  period  at  which 
my  tale  commences.  Their  greatest  care,  perhaps,  had  arisen 
from  the  temper,  surly,  rude,  insolent,  and  provocative,  of 
Eadwulf  the  Red,  Kenric's  brother,  who  had  already,  by  mis 
conduct,  and  even  actual  crime,  according  to  the  Norman 
code,  subjected  himself  to  severe  penalties,  and  been  reduced, 
in  default  of  harsher  treatment,  to  the  condition  of  a  mere 
slave,  a  chattel,  saleable  like  an  ox  or  ass,  at  the  pleasure 
of  their  lord. 

This,  both  in  its  actual  sense,  as  keeping  them  in  constant 
apprehension  of  what  further  distress  Eadwulf  s  future  miscon 
duct  might  bring  upon  them,  and  in  its  moral  bearing,  as 
holding  them  constantly  reminded  of  their  own  servile  con 
dition,  had  been,  thus  far,  their  prime  grief  and  cause  of  com 
plaint,  had  they  been  persons  given  to  complain. 

Still,  although  well-nigh  a  century  had  elapsed  since  the 
Norman  Conquest,  and  the  heir  of  the  Conqueror  in  the 
fourth  generation  was  sitting  on  the  throne  which  that  great 
and  politic  prince  won  on  the  fatal  day  of  Hastings,  their  con 
dition  had  not  become  habitual  or  easy  to  those,  at  least,  who 
had  been  reduced  to  slavery  from  freedom,  by  the  conse 
quences  of  that  disastrous  battle.  And  such  was  the  condition 
of  the  family  whence  sprang  Kenric  and  Edith.  The  Saxon 
thane,  Waltheof,  whose  name  and  that  of  his  abode  had  de 
scended  to  the  Norman  fortalice  which  had  arisen  from  the 


118  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

aslies  of  his  less  aspiring  manor,  had  resisted  the  Norman  in 
vaders  so  long,  with  such  inveterate  and  stubborn  valor,  and, 
through  the  devotion  of  his  tenants  and  followers,  with  such 
cost  of  life,  that  when  he  fell  in  fight,  and  his  possessions 
were  granted  to  his  slayer,  all  the  dwellers  on  his  lands  were 
involved  in  the  common  ruin. 

To  the  serfs  of  the  soil,  who  had  been  serfs  before  the  con 
quest,  it  mattered  but  little.  The  slave  to  the  Saxon  was 
but  changed  into  the  slave  of  the  Norman,  and  did  not  per 
haps  find. in  him  a  crueller,  though  he  might  a  haughtier  and 
more  overbearing  master.  But  to  the  freeman,  the  doom 
which  consigned  him  to  the  fetters  of  the  Norman,  which  con 
verted  him  from  the  owner  into  the  serf  of  the  soil,  was 
second  only,  if  second,  to  the  bitterness  of  death.  And  such 
had  been  the  doom  of  the  grandfather  of  Kenric  and  Ead- 
wulf. 

Their  mother  herself  had  been  born  free,  not  far  from  the 
hovel  in  which  she  still  dwelt  a  slave,  though  she  was  but  an 
infant  when  the  hurricane  of  war  and  ruin  swept  over  the 
green  oaks  of  Sherwood,  and  had  no  memory  of  the  time 
when  "she  was  not  the  thrall  of  a  foreign  lord.  Her  father,, 
Wulfred,  was  the  largest  tenant  under  Waltheof,  himself  a 
franklin,  or  small  landholder,  and  of  blood  as  noble,  and  sta 
tion  more  elevated  than  that  of  one  half  the  adventurers  who 
had  flocked  to  the  banner  of  William  the  invader.  With  his 
landlord  and  friend,  he  had  fought  to  the  last,  not  at  Hastings 
only,  but  in  every  bloody  ineffectual  rising,  until  the  last 
spark  of  Saxon  liberty  was  trampled  out  under  the  iron  hoofs 
of  the  Norman  war-horse  ;  but,  less  happy  than  Waltheof,  he 
had  survived  to  find  himself  a  slave,  and  the  father  of  slaves, 


THE  LADY  AND  THE  SLAVE.          119 

tilling  for  a  cruel  foreign  conqueror  the  land  which  had  been 
his  own  and  his  father's,  and  his  father's  father's,  but  in  which 
he  and  his  heirs  should  have  no  heritage  for  evermore,  beyond 
the  six-foot  measure  which  should  be  meted  to  them  every 
one,  for  his  long  home. 

And  the  memory  of  these  things  had  not  yet  passed  away, 
nor  the  bitterness  of  the  iron  departed  from  the  children, 
which  had  then  entered  into  the  soul  of  the  parent. 

An  irrepressible  desire  came  over  the  mind  of  Guendolen, 
to  know  and  comprehend  something  more  fully  the  sentiments 
and  sorrows  of  the  girl  who  had  nursed  and  attended  her  so 
gently  since  her  adventure  with  the  stag ;  and  perceiving 
intuitively  that  the  slave  girl,  who,  strange  as  it  appeared  to 
her,  seemed  to  have  a  species  of  pride  of  her  own,  would  not 
reveal  her  inward  self  in  the  presence  of  the  vain  and  flippant 
Norman  waiting  girls,  she  hastened  to  dismiss  them,  without 
wounding  their  self-esteem,  on  a  pretext  of  which  they  would 
be  willing  enough  to  avail  themselves. 

"  Lilian  and  Marguerite,"  she  said,  "  you  must  be  weary 
my  good  girls,  with  watching  me  through  this  long  night 
and  my  peevish  temper  must  have  made  you  yet  more  weary,  foi 
I  feel  that  I  am  not  myself,  and  that  I  have  tried  your  patience. 
Go,  therefore,  now,  and  get  some  repose,  that  when  I  shall 
truly  need  your  services  again,  you  may  be  well  at  ease  to 
serve  me.  I  feel  as  if  I  could  sleep  now  ;  and  while  I  slumber. 
Edith,  here,  can  watch  beside  me,  and  drive  away  the  gnats 
with  her  fan,  as  well  as  a  more  experienced  bower-woman." 

Whether  the  girls  suspected  or  not  that  their  mistress  de 
sired  to  be  rid  of  them,  they  were  not  sorry  to  be  dismissed 
from  attendance  on  her  couch  ;  and  whether  they  proposed  to 


120  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

devote  the  opportunity  to  repose,  or  to  gay  flirtation  with  the 
pages  of  their  own .  lord's  or  of  Sir  Philip's  household,  they 
withdrew  at  once,  leaving  the  lady  gazing  fixedly  on  the  mo 
tionless  and  hardly  conscious  figure  of  the  slave  girl. 

By  a  sudden  impulse  she  passed  her  small  white  hand  ca 
ressingly  over  the  soft  and  abundant  tresses  of  Edith's  fair 
hair ;  and  so  unusual  was  the  sensation  to  the  daughter  of  the 
downfallen  race,  that  she  started,  as  if  a  blow  had  been  dealt 
her,  and  blushed  crimson,  between  surprise  and  wonder,  as  she 
raised  her  great  blue  eyes  wide  open  to  the  face  of  the  young 
lady. 

"  And  is  it  so  hard  ?"  she  asked,  in  reference  more  to  what 
she  understood  Edith  to  mean,  than  to  any  thing  she  had 
spoken,  or  even  hinted — "  is  it  so  hard,  my  poor  child  ?  I 
had  thought  that  your  lot  sat  as  lightly  on  you  as  the  dew- 
drop  in  the  chalice  of  the  bluebell.  I  had  fancied  you  as 
happy  as  any  one  of  us  here  below.  Will  you  not  tell  me 
what  is  this  sorrow  which  weighs  on  you  so  heavily  ?  It  may 
be  I  can  do  something  to  relieve  it." 

"Lady,  I  am,  as  you  know,  a  Saxon,  and  a  slave,  the 
daughter  of  a  slave,  and,  should  it  ever  be  my  lot  to  wed,  the 
wife, to  be,  of  a  serf,  a  bondman  of  the  soil,  and  the  mother 
of  things  doomed,  or  ere  they  see  the  blessed  light  of  Heaven, 
to  the  collar  and  the  chain  from  the  cradle  to  the  grave. 
Think  you  a  woman,  with  such  thoughts  as  these  at  her  heart, 
can  be  very  gay  or  joyous  ?" 

"  And  yet,  you  were  both  gay  and  joyous  yesterday,  Edith  ; 
and  all  last  week,  since  I  have  been  at  the  castle,  I  have  heard 
no  sounds  so  gay  or  so  pleasant  to  my  ear  as  your  merry  bal 
lads.  And  you  are  no  more  a  serf  this  morn  than  you  were 


THE  LADY  AND  THE  SLAVE.          121 

yestrene,  and  the  good  God  alone  knows  what  any  of  us  all 
may  be  on  the  morrow,  Edith.  Something,  I  know,  must 
have  happened,  girl,  to  make  you  wear  a  face  so  altered  on 
this  beautiful  summer  day,  and  carry  so  sad  a  heart,  when  all 
the  world  is  so  happy." 

"All  the  world,  lady!"  replied  Edith;  "all  the  world 
happy !  Alas !  not  one  tenth  of  it,  unless  you  mean  the 
beasts  and  the  birds,  which,  knowing  nothing,  are  blithe  in  their 
happy  innocence.  Of  the  human  world  around  us,  lady,  one 
half  knows  not,  and  more  by  far  than  one  half  cares  not,  how 
miserable  or  how  hopeless  are  their  fellows — nor,  if  all  knew 
and  cared  for  all,  could  they  either  comprehend  or  console, 
much  less  relieve,  the  miserable." 

"  But  if  I  be  one  of  those,  Edith,  who  know  not,  I  am  at 
least  not  one  of  those  who  care  not.  Therefore,  I  come  back 
to  the  place  whence  I  started.  Something  has  happened, 
which  makes  you  dwell  so  much  more  dolefully  to-day,  upon 
that  which  weighed  not  on  you,  yestrene,  heavier  than  a 
feather." 

"  Something  has  happened,  lady.  But  it  is  all  one ;  for  it 
resolves  itself  in  all  but  into  this  ;  I  am  a  slave — a  slave,  until 
life  is  over." 

"  This  is  strange,"  said  Guendolen,  thoughtfully.  "  I  do 
not  understand — may  not  understand  this.  It  does  not  seem 
to  me  that  your  duties  are  so  very  hard,  your  life  so  very 
painful,  or  your  rule  so  very  strict,  that  you  should  suddenly 
thus  give  way  to  utter  gloom  and  despondency,  for  no  cause 
but  what  you  have  known  for  years,  and  found  endurable 
until  this  moment." 

"But  henceforth  unendurable.  Oh!  talk  not,  lady,  talk 
6 


122  SHERWOOD     POREST. 

not.  You  may  console  the  dying,  for  to  him  there  is  a  hope, 
a  present  hope  of  a  quick-coming  future.  But  comfort  not 
the  slave ;  for  to  him  the  bitterest  and  most  cruel  past  is  hap 
pier  than  the  hopeless  present,  if  only  for  that  it  is  past ;  and 
the  present,  hopeless  as  it  is,  is  yet  less  desperate  than  the  fu 
ture  ;  for  to  the  slave,  in  the  future,  every  thing  except  happi 
ness  is  possible.  I  may  seem  to  speak  enigmas  to  you,  lady, 
and  I  am  sure  that  you  do  not  understand  me — how  should 
you  ?  None  but  a  slave  can  know  or  imagine  what  it  is  to  be 
a  slave  ;  none  can  conceive  what  a  slave  feels,  thinks,  suffers. 
And  yet  a  slave  is  a  man,  after  all ;  and  a  lord  is  no  more 
than  a  man,  while  living — and  yet,  what  a  gulf  between 
them !" 

"And  you  will  not  tell  me,  Edith,"  persisted  the  Lady 
Guendolen,  "  you  will  not  tell  me  what  it  is  that  has  happened 
to  you  of  late,  which  makes  you  grieve  so  despondently,  thus 
on  a  sudden,  over  your  late-endured  condition  ?  Then  you 
must  let  me  divine  it.  You  have  learned  your  own  h#art  of 
late.  You  have  discovered  that  you  love,  Edith." 

"  And  if  it  were  so,  lady,"  replied  the  girl,  darkly,  "  were 
not  that  enough  to  make  a  woman,  who  is  at  once  a  Chris 
tian  and  a  slave,  both  despond  and  despair  ?  First  to  love  a 
slave — for  to  love  other  than  a  slave,  being  herself  a  slave 
were  the  same,  as  for  a  mortal  to  be  enamored  of  a  star  in 
heaven — and  then,  even  if  license  were  granted  to  wed  him 
she  loved,  which  is  not  certain  or  even  of  usual  occurrence,  to 
be  the  mother  of  babes,  to  whom  but  one  reality  is  secured, 
beyond  a  peradventure,  tke  reality  that  they  too  must  be  slaves 
and  wretched.  But  you  are  wrong,  lady.  I  have  not  learned 
my  own  heart  of  lato — I  have  known  it  lona'.  I  have  no! 


THE  LADY  AND  THE  SLAVE.  123 

discovered  but  now  that  I  love,  nor  has  he  whom  I  love.  We 
have  been  betrothed  this  year  and  better." 

"What  then?  what  then?"  cried  Guendolen,  eagerly. 
"  Will  not  Sir  Philip  consent  ?  If  that  be  all,  dry  your  tears, 
Edith ;  so  small  a  boon  as  that  I  can  command  by  a  single 
word." 

"  Sir  Philip  heeds  not  such  matters,  lady.  His  bailiff  has 
consented,  if  that  were  all." 

"  What  is  it,  then  ?  This  scruple  about  babes,"  said  Guen 
dolen,  thoughtfully.  "It  is  sad — it  is  sad,  indeed.  Yet  if 
you  love  him,  as  you  say,  and  your  life  in  its  actual  reality  be 
not  so  bitter — " 

"  No,  lady,  no ;  it  is  not  even  that.  If  I  had  scruples  on 
that  head,  they  have  vanished ;  Kenric  has  convinced  me — " 

"  Kenric !"  exclaimed  Guendolen,  starting  erect  into  a  sit 
ting  attitude,  forgetful  of  her  pains  and  bruises.  "  What,  the 
brave  man  who  saved  me  from  the  stag  at  the  risk  of  his  own 
life,  who  was  half  slain  in  serving  me — is  he — is  he  your 
Kenric  ?" 

"  The  same,"  answered  Edith,  with  the  quiet  accent  of  fixed 
sorrow.  "  And  the  same  for  whom  you  procured  the  priceless 
boon  of  liberty." 

An  idea  flashed,  like  the  electric  fluid,  across  the  mind  of 
Guendolen,  who  up  to  that  moment  had  suspected  nothing  of 
the  connection  between  her  preserver  and  the  beautiful  girl 
before  her,  and  who  knew  nothing  of  his  grand  refusal  to 
accept  even  liberty  itself,  most  inestimable  of  all  gifts,  which 
could  not  be  shared  by  those  whom  he  loved  beyond  liberty 
or  life  ;  and  she  imagined  that  she  read  the  secret,  and  had 
pierced  the  maiden's  mystery. 


124  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

"  Can  it  be  ?"  she  said,  sorrowfully,  and  seeming  rather  to 
be  communing  with  herself,  than  inquiring  of  her  companion. 
"  Can  it  be  that  one  so  brave,  so  generous,  and  seemingly  so 
noble,  should  be  so  base  and  abject  ?  Oh !  but  these  men, 
these  men,  if  tale  and  history  speak  true,  they  are  the  same 
all  and  ever — false,  selfish,  and  deceivers  !" 

"  Kenric,  lady  ?" 

"  And  because  he  is  free — the  freeman  but  of  the  hour — 
he  has  despised  thee,  Edith,  the  slave  girl  ?  But  hold  thy 
head  high,  sweet  one,  and  thy  heart  higher.  Thou  shalt  be 
free  to-morrow,  girl,  and  the  mate  of  his  betters ;  it  shall  be 
thou,  to-morrow,  who  shall  repay  scorn  with  scorn,  and — " 

"No,  lady,  no,"  cried  the  girl,  who  had  been  hitherto 
silenced  and  overpowered  by  the  impulsive  vehemence  of 
Guendolen.  "  You  misapprehend  me  altogether.  It  is  not  I 
whom  he  rejected,  for  that  he  was  free  ;  but  liberty  that  he 
cast  from  him,  as  a  toy  not  worth  the  having,  because  /  might 
not  be  free  with  him — I,  and  his  aged  mother,  of  whom  he 
is,  alone,  the  only  stay  and  comfort." 

"  Noble  !  noble  !"  cried  the  Norman  girl,  joyously  clapping 
her  hands  together.  "  Noble  and  glorious,  gentle  and  great ! 
This,  this,  indeed,  is  true  nobility !  Why  do  we  Normans 
boast  ourselves,  as  if  we  alone  could  think  great  thoughts,  or 
do  great  deeds  ?  and  here  we  are  outdone,  beyond  all  question 
or  comparison,  in  the  true  gentleness  of  perfect  chivalry ;  and 
that,  by  a  Saxon  slave.  But  be  of  good  cheer,  Edith,  my 
sister  and  my  friend ;  bo  of  good  cheer.  The  sun  shall  not 
go  down  looking  upon  you  still  a  slave,  nor  upon  your  Kenric, 
nor  yet  upon  his  mother.  You  shall  be  free,  all  free,  free  as 
the  blessed  winds  of  heaven,  before  the  sun  set  in  the  sea. 


THE  LADY  AND  THE  SLAVE.          125 

And  you  shall  be  the  wife  of  no  serf,  but  of  a  freeman,  and  a 
freeholder,  iu  my  own  manor  lands  of  Kendal  upon  Kent ; 
and  you  shall  be,  God  willing,  the  mother  of  free  Englishmen, 
to  do  their  lady  as  leal  service  as  their  stout  father  did  before 
them.  Fear  nothing,  and  doubt  nothing,  Edith  ;  for  this  shall 
be,  so  surely  as  I  am  Guendolen  of  Taillebois.  So  small  a 
thing  as  this  I  can  right  readily  do  with  my  good  father,  and 
he  as  readily  with  our  true  friend,  noble  Sir  Philip  de  Mor- 
ville.  But  hark  !  I  hear  their  horses'  hoofs  and  the  whimper 
ing  of  their  hounds  in  the  court-yard.  To  the  bartizan,  girl, 
to  the  bartizan !  Is  it  they — is  it  the  chase  returning  ?" 

"  It  is  they,  dear  lady — your  noble  sire  and  Sir  Philip,  and 
all  the  knights  who  rode  forth  this  morning — all  laughing  in 
high  merriment  and  glee  !  and  now  they  mount  the  steps — 
they  have  entered." 

"  No  better  moment,  then,  to  press  a  boon.  Fly,  girl,  be 
your  wishes  wings  to  your  speech.  I  would  see  my  father 
straightway !" 


CHAPTER    XI. 

THE    LADY'S    GAME 


'And  if  Bho  will,  she  will !  you  may  depend  on  V 

OLD  SATING. 


IT  did  not  prove,  in  truth,  a  matter  altogether  so  easy  of 
accomplishment  as  Guendolen,  in  her  warm  enthusiasm  and 
sympathy,  had  boasted,  to  effect  that  small  thing,  as  she  had 
termed  it  in  her  thoughtless  eagerness,  the  liberation  of  three 
human  beings,  and  the  posterity  of  two,  through  countless 
generations,  from  the  curse  and  degradation  of  hereditary 
bondage. 

The  value,  in  the  first  place,  of  the  unhappy  beings,  to  each 
of  whom,  as  to  a  beast  of  burden,  or  to  a  piece  of  furniture, 
a  regular  money-price  was  attached,  although  they  could  not 
be  sold  away  from  the  land  to  which  they  appertained,  unless 
by  their  own  consent,  was  by  no  means  inconsiderable  even  to 
one  so  rich  as  Sir  Yvo  do  Taillebois ;  for  in  those  days  the 
wealth  even  of  the  greatest  landed  proprietors  lay  rather  in 
the  sources  of  revenue,  than  in  revenue  itself ;  and  men,  whose 
estates  extended  over  many  parishes,  exceeding  far  the  limits 
of  a  modern  German  principality,  whose  forests  contained 
herds  of  deer  to  be  numbered  by  the  thousand  head,  whose 


127 

cattle  pastured  over  leagues  of  hill  and  valley,  who  could 
raise  armies,  at  the  lifting  of  their  banners,  larger  than  many 
a  sovereign  prince  of  the  nineteenth  century,  were  often  hard 
set  to  find  the  smallest  sums  of  ready  money  on  emergency, 
unless  by  levying  tax  or  scutage  on  their  vassals,  or  by  apply 
ing  to  the  Jews  and  Lombards. 

In  the  second  place,  the  scruples  of  Kenric,  which  justly 
appeared  so  generous  and  noble  to  the  fine,  unsophisticated 
intellect  of  the  young  girl,  by  no  means  appeared  in  the 
same  light  to  the  proud  barons,  accustomed  to  regard  the 
Saxon,  and  more  especially  the  serf,  as  a  being  so  palpably 
and  manifestly  inferior,  that  he  was  scarcely  deemed  to  possess 
rights,  much  less  sentiments  or  feelings,  other  than  those  of 
the  lower  animals. 

To  them,  therefore,  the  Saxon's  refusal  to  consent  to  his 
own  sale  as  a  step  necessary  to  manumission,  appeared  an  act 
of  insolent  outrecuidance,  or  at  the  best  a  bold  and  impudent 
piece  of  chicanery,  whereby  to  extort  from  his  generous 
patrons  a  recompense  three  times  greater  than  they  had 
thought  of  conferring  on  him,  in  the  first  instance. 

It  was  with  scorn,  therefore,  and  almost  with  anger,  that 
Sir  Yvo  listened  to  the  first  solicitations  of  Guendolen  in  be 
half  of  her  clients ;  and  he  laughed  at  her  high-flown  senti 
ments  of  admiration  and  wonder  at  the  self-devotion,  the 
generosity,  the  immovable  constancy,  of  the  noble  Saxon. 

"The  noble  Saxon!  By  the  glory  of  Heaven!"  he  ex 
claimed,  "  these  women  would  talk  one  out  of  all  sense  of 
reason,  with  their  sympathetic  jargon !  Why,  here  's  a  sturdy 
knave,  who  has  done  what,  to  win  all  this  mighty  gratitude  ? 
Just  stuck  his  whittle  into  a  wild  stag's  weasard,  and  saved  a 


128  SHERWOOD   FOREST. 

lady's  life,  more  by  good  luck  than  by  good  service — as  any 
man,  or  boy,  of  Norman  blood,  would  have  done  in  a  trice, 
and  thought  no  more  of  it ;  and  then,  when  his  freedom 's 
tendered  him  as  a  reward  for  doing  that  for  which  ten-pence 
had  well  paid  him,  and  for  failing  to  do  which  he  had  de 
served  to  be  scourged  till  his  bones  lay  bare,  he  is  too  mighty 
to  accept  it — marry  !  he  names  conditions,  he  makes  terms, 
on  which  he  will  consent  to  oblige  his  lords  by  becoming  free ; 
and  you — you  plead  for  him.  The  noble  Saxon  !  by  the  great 
gods,  I  marvel  at  you,  Guendolen." 

But  she,  with  the  woman's  wily  charm,  replied  not  a  word 
while  he  was  in  the  tide  of  indignation  and  invective ;  but 
when  he  paused,  exhausted  for  the  moment  by  his  own  ve 
hemence,  she  took  up  the  word — 

"  Ten-pence  would  have  well  paid  him !  At  least,  I  am 
well  content  to  know,"  she  said,  "  the  value  of  my  life,  and 
that,  too,  at  my  own  father's  rating.  The  Saxons  may  be,  as 
I  have  heard  tell,  but  have  not  seen  that  they  are,  sordid,  de 
graded,  brutal,  devoid  of  chivalry  and  courtesy  and  love  of 
fame ;  but  I  would  wager  my  life  there  is  not  a  free  Saxon 
man — no,  not  the  poorest  Franklin,  who  would  not  rate  the 
life  of  his  coarse-featured,  sun-burned  daughter  at  something 
higher  than  the  value  of  a  heifer.  But  it  is  very  well.  I  am 
rebuked.  I  will  trouble  you  no  farther,  valiant  Sir  Yvo  de 
Taillebois.  I  have  no  right  to  trouble  you,  beausire,  for  I 
must  sure  be  base-born,  though  I  dreamed  not  of  it,  that  my 
blood  should  be  dearly  bought  at  ten-pence.  Were  it  of  the 
pure  current  that  mantled  in  the  veins  of  our  high  ancestors, 
it  should  fetch  something  more,  I  trow,  in  the  market." 

"Nay!  nay  !  thou  art  childish,  Guendolen,  peevish,  and  all 


129 

unreasonable.  I  spoke  not  of  thy  life,  and  tliou  knowest 
it  right  well,  but  of  the  chance,  the  slight  merit  of  his  own, 
by  which  he  saved  it." 

"  Slight  merit,  father !" 

"  Pshaw !  girl,  thou  hast  gotten  me  on  the  mere  play  of 
words.  But  how  canst  make  it  tally  with  the  vast  ideas  of 
this  churl's  chivalry  and  heaven-aspiring  nobility  of  soul,  that 
he  so  little  values  liberty,  the  noblest,  most  divine  of  all 
things,  not  immortal,  as  to  reject  it  thus  ignobly  ?" 

"  It  skills  not  to  argue  with  you,  sir,"  she  answered,  sadly ; 
"  for  I  see  you  are  resolved  to  refuse  mo  my  boon,  as  where 
fore  should  you  not,  setting  so  little  value  on  this  poor  life  of 
mine.  I  know  that  I  am  but  a  poor,  weak  child,  that  I  was  a 
disappointment  to  you  in  my  cradle,  seeing  that  I  neither  can 
win  fresh  honors  to  your  house  amid  the  spears  and  trumpets, 
nor  transmit  even  the  name,  of  which  you  are  so  proud,  to 
future  generations;  but  I  am,  at  least  in  pride,  too  much 
a  Taillebois  to  crave,  as  an  importunate,  unmannerly  suitor, 
what  is  denied  to  me  as  a  free  grace.  Only  this — were  you 
and  I  in  the  hands  of  the  Mussulman,  captives  and  slaves 
together,  and  you  should  accept  freedom  as  a  gift,  leaving 
your  own  blood  in  bondage,  I  think  the  Normans  would  hold 
you  dishonored  noble,  and  false  knight ;  I  am  sure  the  Saxons 
would  pronounce  you  nidering.  I  have  done,  sir.  Let  the 
Saxon  die  a  slave,  if  you  think  it  comports  with  the  dignity 
of  De  Taillebois  to  be  a  slave's  debtor.  I  thought,  if  you  did 
not  love  me,  that  you  loved  the  memory  of  my  mother 
better." 

"  There !  there !"  replied  Sir  Yvo,  quite  overpowered,  and 
half  amused  by  the  mixture  of  art  and  artlessness,  of  real  pas- 


130  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

sion  and  affected  sense  of  injury  by  which  she  had  worked 
out  her  purpose.  "  There !  there !  enough  said,  Guendolen. 
You  will  have  it  as  you  will,  depend  on 't.  I  might  have 
known  you  would,  from  the  beginning,  and  so  have  spared 
myself  the  pains  of  arguing  with  you.  It  must  bo  as  you  will 
have  it,  and  I  will  go  buy  the  brood  of  Sir  Philip  at  once  ; 
pray  Heaven  only  that  they  will  condescend  to  be  manumitted, 
without  my  praying  them  to  accept  their  liberty  upon  my 
knee.  It  will  cost  me  a  thousand  zecchins  or  more,  I  war 
rant  me,  at  the  first,  and  then  I  shall  have  to  find  them  lands 
of  my  lands,  and  to  be  security  for  their  "  were  and  mund,"  and 
I  know  not  what.  Alack-a-day !  women  ever  !  ever  women ! 
when  we  are  young  it  is  our  sisters,  our  mistresses,  our  wives ; 
when  we  grow  old,  our  daughters! — and  by  my  hopes  of 
Heaven,  I  believe  the  last  plague  is  the  sorest !" 

"  My  funeral  expenses,  with  the  dole  and  alms  and  masses, 
would  scarcely  have  cost  you  so  much,  Sir  Yvo.  Pity  he  did 
not  let  the  stag  work  his  will  on  me !  Don't  you  think  so, 
sir  ?" 

"  Leave  off  your  pouting,  silly  child.  You  have  your  own 
way,  and  that  is  all  you  care  for ;  I  don't  believe  you  care  the 
waving  of  a  feather  for  the  Saxons,  so  you  may  gratify  your 
love  of  ruling,  and  force  your  father,  who  should  show  more 
sense  and  firmness,  to  yield  to  every  one  of  your  small  ca 
prices.  So  smooth  that  bent  brow,  and  let  us  see  a  smile  on 
those  rosy  lips  again,  and  you  may  tell  your  Edith,  if  that 's 
her  name,  that  she  shall  bo  a  free  woman  before  sunset." 

"  So  you  confess,  after  all  this  flurry,  that  it  was  but  a 
small  caprice,  concerning  which  you  have  so  thwarted  me. 
Well,  I  forgive  you,  sir,  by  this  token," — and,  as  she  spoke, 


THE     LADY   S     GAME.  131 

she  threw  her  white  arms  about  his  neck,  and  kissed  him  on 
the  forehead  tenderly,  before  she  added,  "  and  now,  to  punish 
you,  the  next  caprice  I  take  shall  be  a  great  one,  and  you 
shall  grant  it  to  me  without  wincing.  Hark  you,  there  are 
the  trumpets  sounding  for  dinner,  and  you  not  point-device 
for  the  banquet-hall !  but  never  heed  to-day.  There  are  no 
ladies  to  the  feast,  since  I  am  not  so  well  at  ease  as  to  descend 
the  stair.  Send  me  some  ortolans  and  beccaficos  from  the 
table,  sir ;  and  above  all,  be  sure,  with  the  comfits  and  the 
Hypocras,  you  send  me  the  deeds  of  manumission  for  Kenric 
and  Edith,  all  in  due  form,  else  I  will  never  hold  you  true 
knight  any  more,  or  gentle  father." 

"  Fare  you  well,  my  child,  and  be  content.  And  if  you 
rule  your  husband,  when  you  get  one,  as  you  now  rule  your 
father,  Heaven  in  its  mercy  help  him,  for  he  will  have  less  of 
liberty  to  boast  than  the  hardest-worked  serf  of  them  all. 
Fare  you  well,  little  wicked  Guendolen." 

And  she  laughed  a  light  laugh  as  the  affectionate  father, 
who  used  so  little  of  the  father's  authority,  left  the  Bower,  and 
cried  joyously,  "  Free,  free  !  all  free !  I  might  have  been  sure 
that  I  should  succeed  with  him.  Dear,  gentle  father !  and 
yet  once,  once  for  a  time,  I  was  afraid.  Yet  I  was  right,  I 
was  right;  and  the  right  must  ever  win  the  day.  Edith! 
Edith !"  she  cried,  as  she  heard  her  light  foot  without.  "  You 
are  free.  I  have  conquered !" 

It  is  needless,  perhaps  it  were  impossible,  to  describe  the 
mingled  feelings  of  delight,  gratitude,  and  wonder,  coupled  to 
something  akin  to  incredulity,  which  were  aroused  in  the 
simple  breast  of  the  Saxon  maiden,  by  the  tidings  of  her  cer 
tain  manumission,  and,  perhaps  even  gladder  yet,  of  her  trans- 


132  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

ference,  in  company  with  all  those  whom  she  loved,  to  a  new 
home  among  scenes  which,  if  not  more  lovely  than  those  in 
which  her  joyless  childhood  and  unregretted  youth  had 
elapsed,  were  at  least  free  from  recollections  of  degradation  and 
disgrace. 

The  news  circulated  speedily  through  the  castle,  how  the 
gratitude  of  the  Lady  Guendolen  had  won  the  liberty  of  the 
whole  family  of  her  preserver,  with  the  sole  exception  of  the 
gross  thrall  Eadwulf ;  and  it  was  easily  granted  to  Edith,  that  she 
should  be  the  bearer  of  the  happy  tidings  to  the  Saxon  quarter. 

Sweet  ever  to  the  captive's,  to  the  slave's,  ear  must  be  the 
sound  of  liberty,  and  hard  the  task,  mighty  the  sacrifice,  to 
reject  it,  on  any  terms,  however  hard  or  painful ;  but  if  ever 
that  delightful  sound  was  rendered  doubly  dear  to  the  hearer, 
it  was  when  the  sweetest  voice  of  the  best  beloved — even  of 
her  for  whom  the  blessed  boon  had  been  refused,  as  without 
her  nothing  worth — conveyed  it  to  the  ears  of  the  brave  and 
constant  lover,  enhanced  by  the  certainty  that  she,  too,  who 
announced  the  happiness,  had  no  small  share  in  procuring  it,  as 
she  would  have  a  large  share  of  enjoying  it,  and  in  rendering 
happy  the  life  which  she  had  crowned  with  the  inestimable  gift 
of  freedom. 

That  was  a  happy  hearth,  a  blessed  home,  on  that  calm 
summer  evening,  though  death  had  been  that  very  day  borne 
from  its  darkened  doors,  though  pain  and  suffering  still 
dwelt  within  its  walls.  But  when  the  heart  is  glad,  and  the 
soul  contented  and  at  peace,  the  pains  of  the  body  are  easily 
endured,  if  they  are  felt  at  all ;  and  happier  hearts,  save  one 
alone,  which  was  discontent  and  bitter,  perhaps  bitterer  from 
the  contemplation  of  the  unparticipated  bliss  of  the  others, 


THE   LADY'S    GAME.  133 

were  never  bowed  in  prayer,  or  filled  with  gratitude  to  tlie 
Giver  of  all  good. 

Eadwulf  sat,  gloomy,  sullen,  and  hard  of  heart,  beside  the 
cheerful  group,  though  not  one  of  it,  refusing  to  join  in  prayer, 
answering  harshly  that  he  had  nothing  for  which  to  praise 
God,  or  be  thankful  to  him  ;  and  that  to  pray  for  any  thing  to 
him  would  be  useless,  for  that  he  had  never  enjoyed  his  favor 
or  protection. 

His  feelings  were  not  those  of  natural  regret  at  the  con 
tinuance  of  his  own  unfortunate  condition,  so  much  as  of  un 
natural  spite  at  the  alteration  in  the  circumstances  of  his 
mother,  his  brother,  and  that  brother's  beautiful  betrothed ; 
and  it  was  but  too  clear  that,  whether  he  should  himself  re 
main  free  or  no,  he  had  been  better  satisfied  that  they  should 
continue  in  their  original  condition,  rather  than  that  they 
should  be  elevated  above  himself  by  any  better  fortune. 

Kenric  had  in  vain  striven  to  soothe  his  morose  and  selfish 
mood,  to  cheer  his  desponding  and  angry,  rather  than  sorrow 
ful,  anticipations — he  had  pointed  out  to  him  that  his  own 
liberation  from  slavery,  and  elevation  to  the  rank  and  position 
of  a  freeman  and  military  tenant  of  a  fief  of  land,  did  not 
merely  render  it  probable,  but  actually  make  it  certain,  that 
Eadwulf  also  would  be  a  freeman,  and  at  liberty  to  join  his 
kindred  in  a  short  time  in  their  new  home ;  "  for  it  must  be 
little,  indeed,  that  you  know  of  my  heart,"  said  the  brave  and 
manly  peasant,  "  or  of  that  of  Edith,  either,  if  you  believe  that 
either  of  us  could  enjoy  our  own  liberty,  or  feel  our  own  hap 
piness  other  than  unfinished  and  incomplete,  so  long  as  you, 
our  own  and  only  brother,  remain  in  slavery  and  sorrow. 
Your  price  is  not  rated  so  high,  brother  Eadwulf,  but  that  we 


134  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

may  easily  save  enough  from  our  earnings,  when  once  free  to 
labor  for  ourselves,  within  two  years  at  the  farthest,  to  pur 
chase  your  freedom  too  from  Sir  Philip  ;  and  think  how  easy 
will  be  the  labor,  and  how  grateful  the  earnings,  when  every 
day's  toil  finished,  and  every  zecchin  saved,  will  bring  us  a  day 
nearer  to  a  brother's  happy  manumission." 

"  Words !"  he  replied,  doggedly — "  mighty  fine  words,  in 
truth.  I  marvel  how  eloquent  we  have  become,  all  on  the 
sudden.  Your  labor  will  be  free,  as  you  say,  and  your  earn 
ings  your  own ;  and  wondrous  little  shall  I  profit  by  them. 
I  should  think  now,  sinco  you  are  so  mighty  and  powerful  with 
the  pretty  Lady  Guendolen,  all  fora  mere  chance  which  might 
have  befallen  me,  or  any  one,  all  as  well  as  yourself,  you 
might  have  stipulated  for  my  freedom — I  had  done  so  I  am 
sure,  though  I  do  not  pretend  to  your  fine  sympathies  and 
heaven-reaching  notions — " 

"  And  so  have  lost  their  freedom  !"  replied  Kenric,  shaking 
his  head,  as  he  waved  his  hand  toward  the  women ;  "  for  that 
would  have  been  the  end  of  it.  For  the  rest,  I  made  no  stipu 
lations  ;  I  only  refused  freedom,  if  it  were  procurable  only  by 
leaving  my  aged  mother  and  my  bethrothed  bride  in  slavery. 
As  it  was,  I  had  lost  my  own  liberty,  and  not  gained  theirs, 
if  it  had  not  been  for  Edith,  who  won  for  us  all,  what  I  had 
lost  for  one." 

"  And  no  one  thought  of  me,  or  my  liberty  !  I  was  not 
worth  thinking  of,  nor  worthy,  I  trow,  to  be  free." 

"  You  say  well,  Eadwulf — you  say  right  well,"  cried  Edith, 
her  fair  face  flushing  fiery  red,  and  her  frame  quivering  with 
excitement.  "  You  are  not  worthy  to  be  free.  There  is  no 
freedom,  or  truth,  or  love,  or  honor,  in  your  heart.  Your. 


135 

spirit,  like  your  body,  is  a  serfs,  and  one  would  do  dishonor 
to  the  soul  of  a  dog,  if  she  likened  it  to  yours.  Had  you  been 
offered  freedom,  you  had  left  all,  mother,  brother,  and  be 
trothed — had  any  maiden  been  so  ill-advised  as  betroth  her 
self  to  so  heartless  a  churl — to  slavery,  and  misery,  and  in 
famy,  or  death,  to  win  your  own  coveted  liberty.  Nay !  I  be 
lieve,  if  they  had  been  free,  and  you  a  serf,  you  would  have 
betrayed  them  into  slavery,  so  that  you  might  be  alone  free. 
A  man  who  can  not  feel  and  comprehend  such  a  sacrifice  as 
Kenric  made  for  all  of  us,  is  capable  of  no  sacrifice  himself,  and 
is  not  worthy  to  be  called  a  man,  or  to  be  a  freeman." 

Thus  passed  away  that  evening,  and  with  the  morrow  came 
full  confirmation  ;  and  the  bold  Saxon  stood  upon  his  native 
soil,  as  free  as  the  air  he  breathed ;  the  son,  too,  of  a  free 
mother,  and  with  a  free,  fair  maiden,  by  his  side,  soon  to  be 
the  free  wife  of  a  free  Englishman.  And  none  envied  them, 
not  one  of  their  fellow-serfs,  who  remained  still  condemned  to 
toil  wearily  and  woefully,  until  their  life  should  be  over — not 
one,  save  Eadwulf,  the  morose,  selfish,  slave-souled  brother. 


CHAPTER    XII. 


THE     DEPARTURE. 


•  He  mounted  himself  on  a  steed  so  talle, 

And  her  on  a  pale  palfraye, 
And  slung  his  bugle  about  his  necke, 
And  roundly  they  rode  awaye." 

THE  CIULDE  OF  ELLE. 


THE  glad  days  rapidly  passed  over,  and  the  morning  of  the 
tenth  day,  as  it  broke  fair  and  full  of  promise  in  the  unclouded 
eastern  sky,  looked  on  a  gay  and  happy  cavalcade,  in  all  the 
gorgeous  and  glittering  attire  of  the  twelfth  century,  setting 
forth  in  proud  array,  half  martial  and  half  civil,  from  the  gates 
of  Waltheofstow. 

First  rode  an  old  esquire,  with  three  pages  in  bright  half 
armor,  hauberks  of  chain  mail  covering  their  bodies,  and  bagi- 
nets  of  steel  on  their  heads,  but  with  their  arms  and  lower 
limbs  undefended,  except  by  the  sleeves  of  their  buff  jerkins 
and  their  close-fitting  hose  of  dressed  buckskin.  Behind 
these,  a  stout  man-at-arms  carried  the  guidon  with  the  em 
blazoned  bearings  of  his  leader,  followed  by  twenty  mounted 
archers,  in  doublets  of  Kendal  green,  with  yew  bows  in  their 
hands,  woodknives,  and  four-and-twenty  peacock-feathered 
cloth-yard  arrows  in  their  girdles,  and  battle-axes  at  their 
saddle-bows. 


THE     DEPARTURE.  137 

In  the  midst  rode  Sir  Yvo  de  Taillebois,  all  armed  save  his 
head,  which  was  covered  with  a  velvet  mortier  with  a  long- 
drooping  feather,  and  wearing  a  splendid  surcoat ;  and,  by  his 
side,  on  a  fleet  Andalusian  jennet,  in  a  rich  purple  habit,  furred 
at  the  cape  and  cuffs,  and  round  the  waist,  with  snow-white 
swansdown,  the  fair  and  gentle  Guendolen,  followed  by  three 
or  four  gay  girls  of  Norman  birth,  and,  happier  and  fairer 
than  the  happiest  and  fairest,  the  charming  Saxon  beauty, 
pure-minded  and  honest  Edith.  Behind  these  followed  a  train 
of  baggage  vans,  cumbrous  and  lumbering  concerns,  groaning 
along  heavily  on  their  ill-constructed  wheels,  and  a  horse-lit 
ter,  intended  for  the  use  of  the  lady,  if  weary  or  ill  at  ease,  but 
at  the  present  conveying  the  aged  freed-woman,  who  was  de 
parting,  now  in  well-nigh  her  ninetieth  summer,  from  the 
home  of  her  youth,  and  the  graves  of  her  husband  and  five 
goodly  sons,  departing  from  the  house  of  bondage,  to  a  free 
new  home  in  the  far  north-west. 

The  procession  was  closed  by  another  body  of  twenty  more 
horse-archers,  led  by  two  armed  esquires ;  and  with  these 
rode  Kenric,  close  shaven,  and  his  short,  cropped  locks  curl 
ing  beneath  a  jaunty  blue  bonnet,  with  a  heron's  feather,  wear 
ing  doublet  and  hose  of  forest  green,  with  russet  doeskin  bus 
kins,  the  silver  badge  of  Sir  Yvo  de  Taillebois  on  his  arm,  and 
in  his  hand  the  freeman's  trusty  weapon,  the  puissant  English 
bow,  which  did  such  mighty  deeds,  and  won  such  los  there 
after,  at  those  immortal  fields  of  Cressy  and  Poictiers,  and 
famous  Agincourt. 

As  the  procession  wound  down  the  long  slope  of  the  castle 
hill,  and  through  the  Saxon  quarter,  the  serfs,  who  had  col 
lected  to  look  on  the  show,  set  up  a  loud  hurrah,  the  ancient 


138  SHE  II  WOOD     FOREST. 

Saxon  cry  of  mirth,  of  greeting,  or  defiance.  It  was  the  cry 
of  caste,  rejoicing  at  the  elevation  of  a  brother  to  the  true  sta 
tion  of  a  man.  But  there  was  one  voice  which  swelled  not 
the  cry  ;  one  man,  who  turned  sullenly  away,  unable  to  bear 
the  sight  of  another's  joy,  turned  away,  muttering  vengeance — 
Eadwulf  the  Red — the  only  soul  so  base,  even  among  the 
fallen  and  degraded  children  of  servitude  and  sorrow,  as  to  re 
fuse  to  be  glad  at  the  happiness  which  it  was  not  granted  him 
to  share,  though  that  happiness  were  a  mother's  and  a  broth 
er's  escape  from  misery  and  degradation. 

Many  days,  many  weeks,  passed  away,  while  that  gay  cav 
alcade  were  engaged  in  their  long  progress  to  the  north-west 
ward,  through  the  whole  length  of  the  beautiful  West  Riding 
of  Yorkshire,  from  its  southern  frontier,  where  it  abuts  on 
Nottinghamshire  and  the  wild  county  of  Derby,  to  its  western 
border,  where  its  wide  moors  and  towering  crag-crested  peaks 
are  blended  with  the  vast  treeless  fells  of  Westmoreland. 

And  during  all  that  lengthened  but  not  weary  progress,  it 
was  but  rarely,  and  then  only  at  short  intervals,  that  they 
were  out  of  the  sight  of  the  umbrageous  and  continuous  forest. 

Ilere  and  there,  in  the  neighborhood  of  some  ancient  bo 
rough,  such  as  Doncaster,  Pontefract,  or  Ripon,  through  which 
lay  their  route,  they  came  upon  broad  oases  of  cultivated  lands, 
with  smiling  farms  and  pleasant  corn-fields  and  free  English 
homesteads,  stretching  along  the  fertile  valley  of  some  blue 
brimful  river ;  again,  and  that  more  frequently,  they  found 
small  forest-hamlets,  wood-embosomed,  with  their  little  garths 
and  gardens,  clustering  about  the  tower  of  some  inferior  feudal 
chief,  literally  set  in  a  frame  of  verdure. 

Sometimes  vast  tracks  of  rich  and  thriftily-cultured  mea- 


THE    DEPARTURE.  139 

dow-lands,  ever  situate  in  the  loveliest  places  of  tlio  sliire, 
pastured  by  abundant  flocks,  and  dotted  with,  sleek  herds  of 
the  already  celebrated  short-horns,  told  where  the  monks  held 
[their  peaceful  sway,  enjoying  the  fat  of  the  land ;  and  pro 
claimed  how,  in  those  days  at  least,  the  priesthood  of  Rome 
were  not  the  sensual,  bigot  drones,  the  ignorant,  oppressive 
tyrants,  whose  whereabout  can  be  now  easily  detected  by  the 
squalid  and  neglected  state  of  lands  and  animals  and  men, 
whenever  they  possess  the  soil  and  control  the  people.  Such 
were  the  famous  Abbey-stedes  of  Fountain's  and  Jorvaulx, 
then,  as  now,  both  for  fertility  and  beauty,  the  boast  of  the 
"West  Riding. 

Still,  notwithstanding  these  pleasant  interchanges  of  rural 
with  forest  scenery,  occurring  so  often  as  to  destroy  all 
monotony,  and  to  keep  up  a  delightful  anticipation  in  the 
mind  of  the  voyager,  as  to  what  sort  of  view  would  meet  his 
eye  on  crossing  yon  hill-top,  or  turning  that  curvature  of  the 
wood-road,  by  far  the  greater  portion  of  their  way  led  them 
over  sandy  tracks,  meandering  like  ribbons  through  wide 
glades  of  greensward,  under  the  broad  protecting  arms  -of 
giant  oaks  and  elms  and  beeches,  the  soft  sod  no  less  refresh 
ing  to  the  tread  of  the  quadrupeds,  than  was  the  cool  shadow 
of  the  twilight  trees  delicious  to  the  riders. 

Those  forests  of  the  olden  day  were  rarely  tangled  or 
thicketlike,  unless  in  marshy  levels,  where  the  alder,  the 
willow,  and  other  water-loving  shrubs  replaced  the  monarchs 
of  the  wild ;  or  where,  in  craggy  gullies,  down  which  brawl 
ed  impetuous  the  bright  hill-streams,  the  yew,  the  holly, 
and  the  juniper,  mixed  with  the  silvery  stems  and  quiver 
ing  verdure  of  the  birches,  or  the  deeper  hues  of  the  broad- 


140  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

leaved  witch-elms  and  hazels,  formed  dingles  fit  for  fairy 
bowers. 

For  the  most  part,  the  huge  bolls  of  the  forest-trees  stood 
far  apart,  in  long  sweeping  aisles,  as  regular  as  if  planted  by 
the  hand  of  man,  allowing  the  grass  to  grow  luxuriantly 
in  the  shade,  nibbled,  by  the  vast  herds  of  red  and  fallow 
deer  and  roes,  into  the  softest  and  most  even  sward  that  ever 
tempted  the  foot  of  high-born  beauty. 

And  no  more  lovely  sight  can  be  imagined  than  those 
deep,  verdant  solitudes,  at  early  morn,  when  the  luxuriant 
feathery  ferns,  the  broom  and  gorse  blazing  with  their  clusters 
of  golden  blossoms,  the  crimson-capped  foxgloves,  the  sky- 
blue  campanulas  by  the  roadside,  the  clustering  honeysuckles 
overrunning  the  stunt  hawthorns,  and  vagrant  briars  and 
waving  grasses  were  glittering  far  and  near  in  their  morning 
garniture  of  diamond  dewdrops,  with  the  long  level  rays  of 
the  new-risen  sun  streaming  in  yellow  lustre  down  the  glades, 
and  casting  great  blue  lines  of  shadow  from  every  mossy 
trunk — no  sight  more  lovely  than  the  same  scenes  in  the 
waning  twilight,  when  the  red  western  sky  tinged  the  gnarled 
bolls  with  lurid  crimson,  and  carpeted  the  earth  with  sheets 
of  copper-colored  light,  while  the  skies  above  were  darkened 
with  the  cerulean  robes  of  nio-ht. 

C3 

JSTor  was  there  lack  of  living  sounds  and  sights  to  take 
away  the  sense  of  loneliness  from  the  mind  of  the  voyager  in 
the  green  wilderness — the  incessant  songs  of  the  thrush  and 
blackbird,  and  whistle  of  the  wood-robin,  the  mellow  notes  of 
the  linnets,  the  willow  warblers  and  the  sedge  birds  in  the 
watery  brake,  the  harsh  laugh  of  the  green-headed  wood 
pecker,  and  the  hoarse  cooing  of  the  innumerable  stock-doves, 


TUB     DEPARTURE.  141 

kept  the  air  vocal  during  all  the  morning  and  evening  hours ; 
while  the  woods  all  resounded  far  and  wide  with  the  lou£ 
belling  of  the  great  stags,  now  in  their  lusty  prime,  calling 
their  shy  mates,  or  defying  their  lusty  rivals,  from  morn  to 
dewy  eve. 

And  ever  and  anon,  the  wild  cadences  of  the  forest  bugles, 
clearly  winded  in  the  distance,  and  the  tuneful  clamor  of  the 
deep-mouthed  talbots,  would  tell  of  some  jovial  hunts-up. 

Now  it  would  be  some  gray-frocked  hedge  priest  plodding 
his  way  alone  on  foot,  or  on  his  patient  ass,  who  would  return 
the  passenger's  benedicite  with  his  smooth  pax  vobiscum  ;  now 
it  would  be  some  green-kirtled  forest  lass  who  would  drop  her 
demure  curtesy  to  the  fair  Norman  lady,  and  shoot  a  sly 
glance  from  her  hazel  eyes  at  the  handsome  Norman  pages. 
Here  it  would  be  a  lord-abbot,  or  proud  prior  with  his 
lay  brothers,  his  refectioners  and  sumptners,  his  baggage- 
mules,  and  led  Andalusian  jennets,  and  as  the  poet  sung, 

"With  many  a  cross-bearer  before, 
And  many  a  spear  behind," 

who  would  greet  them  fairly  in  some  shady  nook  beside  the 
sparkling  brook  or  crystal  well-head,  and  pray  them  of  their 
courtesy  to  alight  and  share  his  poor  convent  fare,  no  less 
than  the  fattest  haunch,  the  tenderest  peacock,  and  the 
purest  wine  of  Gascony,  on  the  soft  green  sward. 

There,  it  would  be  a  knot  of  sun-burned  Saxon  woodmen, 
in  their  green  frocks  and  buckram  hose,  with  long  bows  in 
their  hands,  short  swords  and  quivers  at  their  sides,  and 
bucklers  of  a  span-breadth  on  their  shoulders,  men  who  had 


142  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

never  acknowledged  Norman  king,  nor  bowed  to  Norman 
yoke,  who  would  stand  at  gaze,  marking  the  party,  from  the 
jaws  of  some  bosky  dingle,  too  proud  to  yield  a  foot,  yet  too 
few  to  attack ;  proving  that  to  be  well  accompanied,  in  those 
days,  in  Sherwood,  was  a  matter  less  of  pomp  than  of  sound 
policy.  Anon,  receiving  notice  of  their  approach  from  the 
repeated  bugle-blasts  of  his  verdurers,  as  they  passed  each 
successive  mere  or  forest-station,  a  Norman  knight  or  noble, 
in  his  garb  of  peace,  would  gallop  down  some  winding  wood- 
path,  with  his  slender  train  scattering  far  behind  him,  to  greet 
his  brother  in  arms,  and  pray  him  to  grace  his  tower  by  re 
freshing  his  company  and  resting  his  fair  and  gentle  daughter 
for  a  few  days  or  hours,  within  its  precincts. 

In  short,  whether  in  the  forest  or  in  the  open  country, 
scarcely  an  hour,  never  a  day,  was  passed,  without  their  en 
countering  some  pleasant  sight,  some  amusing  incident,  some 
interesting  adventure.  There  was  a  vast  fund  of  romance  in 
the  daily  life  of  those  olden  days,  an  untold  abundance  of  the 
picturesque,  not  a  little,  indeed,  of  what  we  should  call  stage- 
effect,  in  the  ordinary  habits  and  every-day  affairs  of  men, 
which,  we  have  now,  in  our  busy,  headlong  race  for  affluence, 
ambition,  priority,  in  every  thing  good  or  evil,  overlooked,  if 
not  forgotten. 

Life  was  in  England  then,  as  it  was  in  France  up  to  the 
days  of  the  Revolution,  as  it  never  has  been  at  any  time  in 
America,  as  it  is  nowhere  now,  and  probably  never  will  be 
any  where  again,  unless  we  return  to  the  primitive,  social 
equality,  and  manful  independence  of  patriarchal  times ;  when 
truth  was  held  truth,  and  manhood  manhood,  the  world  over ; 
and  some  higher  purpose  in  mortality  was  acknowledged  than 


THE    DEPARTURE.  143 

the  mere  acquiring,  some  larger  nobleness  in  man  than  the 
mere  possessing,  of  unprofitable  wealth. 

Much  of  life,  then,  was  spent  out  of  doors ;  the  mid-day 
meal,  the  mid-day  slumber,  the  evening  dance,  were  enjoyed, 
alike  by  prince  and  peasant,  under  the  shadowy  forest-tree,  or 
the  verdure  of  the  trellised  bower.  The  use  of  flowers  was 
universal ;  in  every  rustic  festival,  of  the  smallest  rural  ham 
lets,  the  streets  would  be  arched  and  garlanded  with  wreaths 
of  wild  flowers  ;  in  every  village  hostelry,  the  chimney  would 
be  filled  with  fresh  greens,  the  board  decked  with  eglantine 
and  hawthorn,  the  beakers  crowned  with  violets  and  cowslips, 
just  as  in  our  days  the  richest  ball-rooms,  the  grandest  ban 
quet-halls,  are  adorned  with  brighter,  if  not  sweeter  or  more 
beautiful,  exotics. 

The  great  in  those  days  had  not  lost  "  that  touch  of  nature" 
which  "makes  the  whole  world  kin"  so  completely,  as  to  see 
no  grace  in  simplicity,  to  find  no  beauty  in  what  is  beautiful 
alike  to  all,  to  enjoy  nothing  which  can  be  enjoyed  by  others 
than  the  great  and  wealthy. 

The  humble  had  not  been,  then,  bowed  so  low  that  the 
necessities  had  precluded  all  thought,  all  care,  for  the  graces 
of  the  existence  of  man. 

If  the  division  between  the  noble  and  the  common  of  the 
human  race,  as  established  by  birth,  by  hereditary  rank,  by 
unalterable  caste,  were  stronger  and  deeper  and  less  eradicable 
than  at  this  day,  the  real  division,  as  visible  in  his  nature, 
between  man  and  man,  of  the  noble  and  the  common,  the 
difference  in  his  tastes,  his  enjoyments,  his  pleasures,  his  capa 
city  no  less  than  his  power  of  enjoying,  was  a  mere  nothing 
then,  to  what  it  is  to-day. 


144  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

The  servants,  the  very  serfs,  of  aristocracy,  in  those  days, 
•when  aristocracy  was  the  rule  of  blood  and  bravery,  were  not, 
by  a  hundredth  part,  so  far  removed  below  the  proudest  of 
their  lords,  in  every  thing  that  renders  humanity  graceful  and 
even  glorious,  in  every  thing  that  renders  life  enjoyable,  as 
are,  at  this  day,  the  workers  fallen  below  the  employers,  when 
nobility  has  ceased  to  be,  and  aristocracy  is  the  sway  of  capi 
tal,  untinctured  with  intelligence,  and  ignorant  of  gentleness 
or  grace. 

It  is  not  that  the  capitalist  is  richer,  and  the  operative 
poorer — though  this  is  true  to  the  letter — than  was  the  prince, 
than  was  the  serf  of  those  days.  It  is  not  only  that  the  aris 
tocrat  of  capital,  the  noble  by  the  grace  of  gold,  is  ten  times 
more  arrogant,  more  insulting,  more  soulless,  cold-hearted, 
and  calmly  cruel,  than  the  aristocrat  of  the  sword,  the  noble 
by  the  grace  of  God ;  and  that  the  worker  is  worked  more 
hardly,  clad  more  humbly,  fed  more  sparely,  than  the  villain 
of  the  middle  ages — though  this,  also,  is  true  to  the  letter — 
but  it  is,  that  the  very  tastes,  the  enjoyments,  and  the  capa 
cities  for  enjoyment,  in  a  word,  almost  the  nature  of  the  two 
classes  are  altered,  estranged,  unalterably  divided. 

The  rich  and  great  have,  with  a  few  rare  exceptions  that 
serve  only  to  prove  the  rule,  lost  all  taste  for  the  simple,  for 
the  natural,  for  the  beautiful,  unless  it  be  the  beautiful  of  art 
and  artifice  ;  the  poor  and  lowly  have,  for  the  most  part,  lost 
all  taste,  all  perception  of  the  beautiful,  of  the  graceful,  in 
any  shape,  all  enjoyment  of  any  thing  beyond  the  tangible, 
the  sensual,  the  real. 

Hence  a  division,  which  never  can  be  reconciled.  Both 
classes  have  receded  from  the  true  nature  of  humanity,  in  the 


THE     DEPARTURE.  145 

two  opposite  directions,  that  they  no  longer  even  comprehend 
the  one  the  tastes  of  the  other,  and  scarce  have  a  desire  or 
a  hope  in  common ;  for  what  the  poor  man  most  desires,  a 
sufficiency  for  his  mere  wants,  physical  and  moral,  the  rich 
man  can  not  comprehend,  never  having  known  to  be  without 
it ;  while  the  artificial  nothings,  for  which  the  capitalist  strives 
and  wrestles  to  the  last,  would  be  to  his  workman  mere  sylla 
bub  and  flummery  to  the  tired  and  hungry  hunter. 

In  those  days  the  enjoyments,  and,  in  a  great  measure,  the 
tastes,  of  all  men  were  alike,  from  the  highest  to  the  lowest — 
the  same  sports  pleased  them,  the  same  viands,  for  the  most 
part,  nourished,  the  same  liquors  enlivened  them.  Fresh  meat 
was  an  unusual  luxury  to  the  noble,  yet  not  an  impossible  in 
dulgence  to  the  lowest  vassal ;  wine  and  beer  were  the  daily, 
the  sole,  beverages  of  all,  differing  only,  and  that  not  very 
widely,  in  degree.  The  same  love  of  flowers,  processions,  out- 
of-door  amusements,  dances  on  the  greensward,  suppers  in  the 
shade,  were  common  to  all,  constantly  enjoyed  by  all. 

Now,  it  is  certain,  the  enjoyments,  the  luxuries  of  the  one 
class — nay,  the  very  delicacy  of  their  tables,  if  attainable, 
would  be  utterly  distasteful  to  the  other ;  and  the  rich  soups, 
the  delicate-made  dishes,  the  savor  of  the  game,  and  the 
purity  of  the  light  French  and  Rhenish  wines,  which  are  the 
ne  plus  ultra  of  the  rich  man's  splendid  board,  would  be 
even  more  distasteful  to  the  man  of  the  million,  than  would 
be  his  beans  and  bacon  and  fire-fraught  whisky  to  the  palate 
of  the  gaudy  millionaire. 

Throughout  their  progress,  therefore,  a  thousand  picturesque 
adventures  befell  our  party,  a  thousand  romantic  scenes  were 
presented  by  their  halts  for  the  noon-day  repose,  the  coming 

7 


140  S  H  B  B  W  O  O'D    F  O  BE  S  T. 

meal,  or  the  nightly  hour  of  rest,  which  never  could  now 
occur,  unless  to  some  pleasure-party,  purposely  masquerading, 
and  aping  the  romance  of  other  days. 

Sometimes,  when  no  convent,  castle,  hostelry,  or  hermitage, 
lay  on  the  day's  route,  the  harbingers  would  select  some  pic 
turesque  glen  and  sparkling  fountain ;  and,  when  the  party 
halted  at  the  spot,  an  extempore  pavilion  would  be  found 
pitched,  of  flags  and  pennoncelles,  outspread  on  a  lattice-work 
of  lances,  with  war-cloaks  spread  for  cushions,  and  flasks  and 
bottiaus  cooling  in  the  spring,  and  pasties  and  boar's  meat, 
venison  and  game,  plates  of  silver  and  goblets  of  gold,  spread 
on  the  grass,  amid  pewter-platters  and  drinking-cups  of  horn, 
a  common  feast  for  man  and  master,  partaken  with  the  same 
appetite,  hallowed  by  the  same  grace,  enlivened  by  the  same 
minstrelsy  and  music,  and  enjoyed  no  less  by  the  late-enfran 
chised  serfs,  than  by  the  high-born  nobles  to  whom  they  owed 
their  freedom. 

Sometimes,  when  it  was  known  beforehand  that  they  must 
encamp  for  the  night  in  the  greenwood,  the  pages  and  wait 
ing-women  would  ride  forward,  in  advance  of  the  rest,  with 
the  foragers,  the  baggage,  and  a  portion  of  the  light-armed 
archery ;  and,  when  the  shades  of  evening  were  falling,  the 
welcome  watch-setting  of  the  mellow-winded  bugles  would 
bid  the  voyagers  hail ;  and,  as  they  opened  some  moon-lit 
grassy  glade,  they  would  behold  green  bowers  of  leafy  branch 
es,  garlanded  with  wild  roses  and  eglantine,  and  strewn  with 
dry,  soft  moss,  and  fires  sparkling  bright  amid  the  shadows, 
and  spits  turning  before  the  blaze,  and  pots  seething  over  it, 
suspended  from  the  immemorial  gipsy  tripods.  And  then 
the  horses  would  be  unbridled,  unladen,  groomed,  and  pick- 


THE     DEPARTUllE.  147 

eted,  to  feed  on  the  rich  forest  herbage ;  and  the  evening  meal 
would  be  spread,  and  the  enlivening  wine-cup  would  go  round, 
and  the  forest  chorus  would  be  trolled,  rendered  doubly  sweet 
by  the  soft  notes  of  the  girls,  until  the  bugles  breathed  a  soft 
good-night,  and,  the  females  of  the  party  withdrawing  to  their 
bowers  of  verdure,  meet  tiring  rooms  for  Oberon  and  his  wild 
Titania,  the  men,  from  the  haughty  baron  to  the  humblest 
groom,  would  fold  them  in  their  cloaks,  and  sleep,  with  their 
feet  to  the  watch-fires,  and  their  untented  brows  toward 
heaven,  until  the  woodlark,  and  the  merle  and  mavis,  earlier 
even  than  the  village  chanticleer,  sounded  their  forest  reveille. 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

THE     PRO  GRBSS. 

"  Great  mountains  on  his  right  hand, 
Both  does  and  roes,  dun  and  red, 
And  harts  aye  casting  up  the  head. 
Bucks  that  brays  and  harts  that  hailes, 
And  hindes  running  into  the  fields, 
And  he  saw  neither  rich  nor  poor, 
But  moss  and  ling  and  bare  wild  moor.'' 

SIB  EGER,  SIB  GEEYSTED,  AKD  SIB  GBYME. 

IN  this  life  there  was  much  of  that  peculiar  charm  which 
seems^to  pervade  all  mankind,  of  whatever  class  or  country, 
and  in  whatever  hemisphere ;  which  irresistibly  impels  him  to 
return  to  his,  perhaps,  original  and  primitive  state,  as  a  no 
madic  being,  a  rover  of  the  forest  and  the  plain ;  which,  while 
it  often  seduces  the  refined  and  civilized  man  of  cities  to  reject 
all  the  conveniences  and  luxuries  of  polite  life,  for  the  excite 
ment  and  freshness,  the  inartificial  liberty  and  self-confiding 
independence  of  semi-barbarism,  has  never  been  known  to  al 
low  the  native  savage  to  renounce  his  freeborn  instincts,  or  to 
abandon  his  natural  and  truant  disposition,  for  all  the  advan 
tage,  all  the  powers,  conferred  by  civilization. 

And  if,  even  to  the  freeborn  and  lofty-minded  noble,  the 
careless,  unconventional,  equalizing  life  of  the  forest  was  felt 
as  giving  a  stronger  pulsation  to  the  free  heart,  a  wider  expan- 


THE     PROGRESS.  149 

sion  to  the  lungs,  a  deeper  sense  of  freedom  and  power,  how 
must  not  the  same  influences  have  been  enjoyed  by  those,  who 
now,  for  the  first  time  since  they  were  born,  tasted  that  mys 
terious  thing,  liberty — of  which  they  had  so  often  dreamed, 
for  which  they  had  longed  so  wistfully,  and  of  which  they  had 
formed,  indeed,  so  indefinite  an  idea — for  it  is  one  of  the  par 
ticulars  in  the  very  essence  of  liberty,  as  it  is,  perhaps,  of  that 
kindred  gift  of  God,  health,  that  although  all  men  talk  of  it  as 
thing  well  understood  and  perfectly  appreciated,  not  one  man 
in  ten  understands  or  appreciates  it  in  the  least,  unless  he  has 
once  enjoyed  it,  and  then  been  deprived  of  its  possession. 

It  is  true  that,  personally,  neither  Kenric  nor  Edith  had 
ever  known  what  it  is  to  be  free ;  but  they  came  of  a  free, 
nay !  even  of  an  educated  stock,  and,  being  children  of  that 
Northern  blood,  which  never  has  long  brooked  even  the  sus 
picion  of  slavery,  and,  in  some  sort,  of  the  same  race  with 
their  conquerors  and  masters,  they  had  never  ceased  to  feel 
the  consciousness  of  inalienable  rights ;  the  galling  sense  of 
injustice  done  them,  of  humiliating  degradation  inflicted  on 
them,  by  their  unnatural  position  among,  but  not  of,  their  fel 
lows  ;  had  never  ceased  to  hope,  to  pray,  and  to  labor  for  a 
restitution  to  those  self-existing  and  immutable  rights — the 
rights,  I  mean,  of  living  for  himself,  laboring  for  himself,  ac 
quiring  for  himself,  holding  for  himself,  thinking,  judging, 
acting  for  himself,  pleasing  and  governing  himself,  so  long  as 
he  trench  not  on  the  self-same  right  of  others — to  which  the 
meanest  man  that  is  born  of  a  woman  is  entitled,  from  the 
instant  when  he  is  born  into  the  world,  as  the  heir  of  God  and 
nature. 

The  Saxon  serf  was,  it  is  true,  a  being  fallen,  debased,  par- 


150  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

tially  brutalized,  deprived  of  half  the  natural  qualities  of  man 
hood,  by  the  state  of  slavery,  ignorance,  and  imbecility,  into 
which  he  had  been  deforced,  and  in  which  he  was  willfully  de 
tained  by  his  masters  ;  but  he  had  not  yet  become  so  utterly 
degraded,  so  far  depressed  below  the  lowest  attributes  of  hu 
manity,  as  to  acquiesce  in  his  own  debasement,  much  less  to 
rejoice  in  his  bondage  for  the  sake  of  the  flesh-pots  of  Egypt, 
or  to  glory  in  his  chains,  and  honor  the  name  of  master. 

From  this  misery,  from  this  last  perversion  and  profanation 
of  the  human  intellect  divine — the  being  content  to  be  a  slave 
— the  Saxon  serf  had  escaped  thus  far ;  and,  thanks  to  the 
great  God  of  nature,  of  revelation,  that  last  curse,  that  last 
profanation,  he  escaped  forever.  His  body  the  task-master 
had  enslaved;  his  intellect  he  had  emasculated,  debased, 
shaken,  but  he  had  not  killed  it ;  for  there,  there,  amid  the 
dust  and  ashes  of  the  all-but-extinguished  fire,  there  lurked 
alive,  ready  to  be  enkindled  by  a  passing  breath  into  a  devour 
ing  flame,  the  sacred  spark  of  liberty. 

Ever  hoping,  ever  struggling  to  be  free,  when  the  day 
dawned  of  freedom,  the  Saxon  slave  was  fit  to  be  free,  and  be 
came  free,  with  no  fierce  outbreak  of  servile  rage  and  ven 
geance,  consequent  on  servile  emancipation,  but  with  the  calm 
although  enthusiastical  gladness  which  fitted  him  to  become  a 
freeman,  a  citizen,  and,  as  he  is,  the  master  of  one  half  of  the 
round  world.  It  is  not,  ah  !  it  is  not  the  chain,  it  is  not  the 
lash,  it  is  not  the  daily  toil,  it  is  not  the  disruption  of  domes 
tic  ties  and  affections,  that  prove,  that  constitute  the  sin,  the 
sorrow,  and  the  shameful  reproach  of  slavery. 

Ah !  no.  But  it  is  the  very  converse  of  these — the  very 
point  insisted  on  so  complacently,  proclaimed  so  triumphantly, 


THE     PROGRESS.  151 

by  the  advocates  of  tins  accursed  thing — it  is  that,  in  spite  of 
the  chain,  in  spite  of  the  lash,  in  spite  of  the  enforced  labor, 
in  spite  of  the  absence  or  disruption  of  family  ties  and  affec 
tions,  the  slave  is  sleek,  satisfied,  self-content ;  that  he  waxes 
fat  among  the  fiesh-pots  ;  that  he  comes  fawning  to  the  smooth 
words,  and  frolics,  delighted,  fresh  from  the  lash  of  his  master, 
in  no  wise  superior  to  the  spaniel,  either  in  aspiration  or  in 
instinct.  It  is  in  that  he  envies  not  the  free  man  his  freedom, 
but,  in  his  hideous  lack  of  all  self-knowledge,  self-reliance, 
self-respect,  is  content  to  be  a  slave,  content  to  eat,  and  grow 
fat  and  die,  without  a  present  concern  beyond  the  avoidance 
of  corporeal  pain  and  the  enjoyment  of  sensual  pleasure,  with 
out  an  aspiration  for  the  future,  beyond  those  of  the  beasts, 
which  graze  and  perish. 

It  is  in  this  that  lies  the  mortal  sin,  the  never-dying  re 
proach,  of  him  who  would  foster,  would  preserve,  would  pro 
pagate,  the  curse  of  slavery  ;  not  that  he  is  a  tyrant  over  the 
body,  but  that  he  is  a  destroyer  of  the  soul — that  he  would 
continue  a  state  of  things  which  reduces  a  human  being,  a  fel 
low-man,  whether  of  an  inferior  race  or  no — for,  as  of  con 
generous  cattle  there  are  many  distinct  tribes,  so  of  men,  and 
of  Caucasian  men  too,  there  be  many  races,  distinct  in  phys 
ical,  in  moral,  in  animal,  in  intellectual  qualities,  as  well  as 
in  color  and  conformation,  if  not  distinct  in  origin — to  the 
level  of  the  beast  which  knoweth  not  whence  he  cometh  or 
whither  he  goeth,  nor  what  is  to  him  for  good,  or  what  for 
evil,  which  hopes  not  to  rise  or  to  advance,  either  here  or 
hereafter,  but  toils  day  after  day,  contented  with  his  daily 
food,  and  lies  down  to  sleep,  and  rises  up  to  labor  and  to  feed, 
as  if  God  had  created  man  with  no  higher  purpose  than  to 


152  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

sleep  and  eat  alternately,  until  the  night  cometh  from  which, 
on  earth,  there  shall  be  no  awakening. 

But  of  this  misery  the  Saxon  serf  was  exempt :  and,  to  do 
him  justice,  of  this  reproach  was  the  Norman  conqueror  ex 
empt  also.  Of  the  use  of  arms,  and  the  knowledge  of  warfare, 
he  indeed  deprived  his  serfs,  for  as  they  outnumbered  him  by 
thousands  in  the  field,  equalled  him  in  resolution,  perhaps  ex 
celled  him  in  physical  strength,  to  grant  such  knowledge 
would  have  been  to  commit  immediate  suicide — but  of  no 
other  knowledge,  least  of  all  of  the  knowledge  that  leads  to 
immortality,  did  he  strive  to  debar  him.  Admittance  to  holy 
orders  was  patent  to  the  lowest  Saxon,  and  in  those  days  the 
cloister  was  the  gate  to  all  knowledge  sacred  or  profane,  to  all 
arts,  all  letters,  all  refinements,  and  above  all  to  that  knowl 
edge  which  is  the  greatest  power — the  knowledge  of  dealing 
with  the  human  heart,  to  govern  it — the  knowledge,  which  so 
often  set  the  hempen  sandal  of  the  Saxon  monk  upon  the 
mailed  neck  of  the  Norman  king,  and  which,  in  the  very 
reign  of  which  I  write,  had  raised  a  low-born  man  of  the 
common  Saxon  race  to  be  Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  the 
keeper  of  the  conscience  of  the  king,  the  primate,  and  for  a 
time  the  very  ruler  of  the  realm. 

Often,  indeed,  did  the  superior  knowledge  of  the  cowled 
Saxon  avenge  on  his  masters  the  wrongs  of  his  enslaved 
brethren  ;  and  while  the  learned  priesthood  of  the  realm  were 
the  brethren  of  its  most  abject  slaves,  no  danger  that  those 
slaves  should  ever  become  wholly  ignorant,  hopeless,  or  de 
graded — and  so  it  was  seen  in  the  end  ;  for  that  very  knowl 
edge  which  it  was  permitted  to  the  servile  race  to  gain,  while 
it  taught  them  to  cherish  and  fitted  them  to  deserve  freedom, 


THE     PROGRESS.  153 

in  the  end  won  it  for  them  ;  at  the  expense  of  no  floods  of 
noble  blood,  through  the  sordure  and  soil  of  no  savage  Satur 
nalia,  such  as  marked  the  emancipation  alike  of  the  white 
serfs  of  revolutionized  France,  and  the  black  slaves  of  disen 
thralled  St.  Domingo. 

And  so  it  was  seen  in  the  deportment  of  Kenric  the  serf, 
and  of  the  slave  girl  Edith,  even  in  these  first  days  of  their 
newly-acquired  freedom. 

Self-respect  they  had  never  lost  altogether ;  and  their  in 
creased  sense  of  it  was  shown  in  the  increased  gravity  and 
calmness  and  becomingness  of  their  deportment. 

Slaves  may  be  merry,  or  they  may  be  sullen.  But  they 
can  not  be  thoughtful,  or  calm,  or  careworn.  The  French, 
while  they  were  feudal  slaves,  before  the  Eevolution,  were  the 
blithest,  the  most  thoughtless,  the  merriest,  and  most  frolic 
some,  of  mortals ;  they  had  no  morrows  for  which  to  take 
care,  no  liberties  which  to  study,  no  rights  which  to  guard. 
The  English  peasant  was  then,  as  the  French  is  fast  becom 
ing  now,  grave  rather  than  frivolous,  a  thinker  more  than  a 
fiddler,  a  doer  very  much  more  than  a  dancer.  Was  he,  is 
he,  the  less  happy,  the  less  respectable,  the  lower  in  the  scale 
of  intellect,  that  he  is  the  farther  from  the  monkey,  and  the 
nearer  to  the  man  ? 

The  merriment,  the  riotous  glee,  the  absolute  abandonment 
of  the  plantation  African  to  the  humor,  the  glee  of  the  mo 
ment,  is  unapproached  by  any  thing  known  of  human  mirth- 
fulness. 

The  gravity,  the  concentrated  thought,  the  stern  abstract 
edness,  the  careworn  aspect  of  the  free  American  is  proverbial 
— the  first  thing  observable  in  him  by  foreigners.  He  has 


154  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

more  to  guard,  more  at  which  to  aspire,  more  on  which  he 
prides  himself,  at  times  almost  boastfully, 'more  for  which  to 
respect  himself,  at  times  almost  to  the  contempt  of  others, 
than  any  mortal  man,  his  co-equal,  under  any  other  form  of 
government,  on  any  other  soil.  Is  he  the  less  happy  for  his 
cares,  or  would  he  change  them  for  the  recklessness  of  the 
well-clad,  well-fed  slave — for  the  thoughtlessness  of  the  first 
subject  in  a  despotic  kingdom  ? 

Kenric  had  been  always  a  thinker,  though  a  serf;  his  elder 
brother  had  been  a  monk,  a  man  of  strong  sense  and  some 
attainment ;  his  mother  had  been  the  daughter  of  one  who 
had  known,  if  he  had  lost,  freedom.  With  his  mother's  milk 
he  had  imbibed  the  love  of  freedom ;  from  his  brother's  love 
and  teachings  he  had  learned  what  a  freeman  should  be  ;  by 
his  own  passionate  and  energetic  will  he  had.  determined  to 
become  free.  He  would  have  become  so  ere  .long,  had  not 
accident  anticipated  his  resolve ;  for  he  had  laid  by,  already, 
from  the  earnings  of  his  leisure  hours,  above  one  half  of  the 
price  whereby  to  purchase  liberty.  He  was  now  even  more 
thoughtful  and  calmer ;  but  his  step  was  freer,  his  carriage 
bolder,  his  head  was  erect.  He  was  neither  afraid  to  look  a 
freeman  in  the  eye,  nor  to  render  meet  deference  to  his  su 
perior.  For  the  freeman  ever  knows,  nor  is  ashamed  to  ac 
knowledge,  that  while  the  equality  of  man  in  certain  rights, 
which  may  be  called,  for  lack  of  a  better  title,  natural  and 
political,  is  co-existent  with  himself,  inalienable,  indefeasible, 
immutable,  and  eternal,  there  is  no  such  thing  whatever,  nor 
can  ever  be,  as  the  equality  of  man  in  things  social,  more  than 
there  can  be  in  personal  strength,  grace,  or  beauty,  in  the 
natural  gifts  of  intellect,  or  in  the  development  of  wisdom. 


THE     PROGRESS.  155 

Of  him  who  boasts  that  he  has  no  superior,  it  may  almost  be 
said  that  he  has  few  inferiors. 

Thereof  Kenric — as  he  rode  along  with  his  harness  on  his 
back,  and  his  weapons  in  his  hand,  a  freeman  among  freemen, 
a  feudal  retainer  among  the  retainers,  some  Norman,  some 
Saxon,  of  his  noble  lord — was  neither  louder,  nor  noisier, 
nor  more  exultant,  perhaps  the  reverse,  than  his  wont, 
though  happier  far  than  he  had  conceived  it  possible  for  him 
to  be. 

And  by  his  bearing,  his  comrades  and  fellows  judged  him, 
and  ruled  their  own  bearing  toward  him.  The  Saxons  of  the 
company  naturally  rejoiced  to  see  their  countryman  free  by 
his  own  merit,  and,  seeing  him  in  all  things  their  equal,  gladly 
admitted  him  to  be  so.  The  haughtier  Normans,  seeing  that 
he  bore  his  bettered  fortunes  as  became  a  man,  ready  for 
either  fortune,  admitted  him  as  one  who  had  won  his  freedom 
bravely,  and  wore  it  as  if  it  had  been  his  from  his  birth — they 
muttered  beneath  their  thick  mustaches,  that  he  deserved  to 
be  a  Norman. 

Edith,  on  the  contrary,  young  yet,  and  unusually  handsome, 
who  had  been  the  pet  of  her  own  people,  and  the  favorite  of 
her  princely  masters,  who  had  never  undergone  any  severe 
labor,  nor  suffered  any  poignant  sorrow,  who  knew  nothing  of 
the  physical  hardships  of  slavery,  more  than  she  did  of  the 
real  and  tangible  blessings  of  liberty,  had  ever  been  as  happy 
and  playful  as  a  kitten,  and  as  tuneful  as  a  bird  among  the 
branches. 

But  now  her  voice  was  silent  of  spontaneous  song,  subdued 
in  conversation,  full  fraught  with  a  suppressed  deeper  feeling. 
The  very  beauty  of  the  fair  face  was  changed,  soberer,  more 


156  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

hopeful,  farther  seeing,  full  no  longer  of  an  earthly,  but  more 
with  something  of  an  angel  light. 

The  spirit  had  spoken  within  her,  the  statue  had  learned 
that  it  had  a  soul. 

And  Guendolen  had  noted,  yet  not  fully  understood  the 
change  or  its  nature.  More  than  once  she  had  called  her  to 
her  bridle-rein  and  conversed  with  her,  and  tried  to  draw  her 
out,  in  vain.  At  last,  she  put  the  question  frankly — 

"  You  are  quieter,  Edith,  calmer,  sadder,  it  seems  to  me," 
she  said,  "  than  I  have  ever  seen  you,  since  I  first  came  to 
Waltheofstow.  I  have  done  all  that  lies  in  me  to  make  you 
happy,  and  I  should  be  sorry  that  you  were  sad  or  discon 
tented." 

"  Sad,  discontented !  Oh  !  no,  lady,  no !"  she  replied,  smil 
ing  among  her  tears.  "  Only  too  happy — too  happy,  to  be 
loud  or  joyous.  All  happiest  things,  I  think,  have  a  touch  of 
melancholy  in  them.  Do  you  think,  lady,  yonder  little 
stream,"  pointing  to  one  which  wound  along  by  the  roadside, 
now  dancing  over  shelvy  rapids,  now  sleeping  in  silent  eddies, 
"  is  less  happy  where  it  lies  calm  and  quiet,  reflecting  heav 
en's  face  from  its  deep  bosom,  and  smiling  with  its  hundred 
tranquil  dimples,  than  where  it  frolics  and  sings  among  the 
pebbles,  or  leaps  over  the  rocks  which  toss  it  into  noisy  foam- 
wreaths  ?  No !  lady,  no.  There  it  gathers  its  merriment  and 
its  motion,  from  the  mere  force  of  outward  causes ;  here  it  col 
lects  itself  from  the  depth  of  its  own  heart,  and  manifests  its 
joy  and  love,  and  thanks  God  in  silence.  It  is  so  with  me, 
Lady  Guendolen.  My  heart  is  too  full  for  music,  but  not  too 
shallow  to  reflect  boundless  love  and  gratitude  forever." 

The  lady  smiled,  and  made  some  slight  reply,  but  she  was 


THE     PROGRESS.  157 

satisfied ;  for  it  was  evident  that  the  girl's  poetry  and  grati 
tude  both  came  direct  from  her  heart ;  and  in  the  smile  of 
the  noble  demoiselle  there  was  a  touch  of  half-satiric  triumph, 
as  she  turned  her  quick  glance  to  Sir  Yvo,  who  had  heard  all 
that  passed,  and  asked  him,  slyly,  "And  do  you,  indeed, 
think,  gentle  father,  that  these  Saxons  are  so  hopelessly 
inferior,  that  they  are  fitting  for  nothing  but  mere  toil ;  or  is 
this  the  mere  inspiration  that  springs  from  the  sense  of  free 
dom  i" 

"I  think,  indeed,"  he  replied,  "that  my  little  Guendolen  is 
but  a  spoiled  child  at  the  best ;  and,  as  to  my  thoughts  in  re 
gard  to  the  Saxons,  them  I  shall  best  consult  my  peace 
of  mind  and  pocket  by  keeping  my  own  property ;  since,  by 
our  Lady's  Grace !  you  may  take  it  into  your  head  to  have  all 
the  serfs  in  the  north  emancipated ;  and  that  is  a  little  beyond 
my  powers  of  purchase.  But  see,  Guendolen,  see  how  the 
sunbeams  glint  and  glitter  yonder  on  the  old  tower  of  Bar- 
den,  and  how  redly  it  stands  out  from  those  purple  clouds 
which  loom  so  dark  and  thunderous  over  the  peaceful  woods 
of  Bolton.  Give  your  jennet  her  head,  girl,  and  let  her  can 
ter  over  these  fair  meadows,  that  we  may  reach  the  abbey  and 
taste  the  noble  prior's  hospitality  before  the  thunder  gust  is 
upon  us." 

And  quickening  its  pace,  the  long  train  wound  its  way 
upward,  by  the  bright  waters  of  the  beautiful  Wharfe,  and 
speedily  obtained  the  shelter,  and  the  welcome  they  expected 
from  the  good  and  generous  monks  of  Bolton,  the  noblest 
abbaye  in  the  loveliest  dale  of  all  the  broad  West  Riding. 

The  next  morning  found  them  traversing  the  broken  green 
country  that  lies  about  the  head  of  the  romantic  Eyre,  and 


158  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

threading  the  wild  passes  of  Ribbledale,  beneath  the  shadow 
of  the  misty  peaks  of  Pennigant  and  Ingleborough,  swathed 
constantly  in  volumed  vapor,  whence  the  clanging  cry  of  the 
eagle,  as  he  wheeled  far  beyond  the  ken  of  mortal  eyes,  came 
to  the  ears  of  the  voyagers,  on  whom  he  looked  securely 
down  as  he  rode  the  storm. 

That  night,  no  castle  or  abbey,  no  village  even,  with  its 
humble  hostelry,  being,  in  those  days,  to  be  found  among 
those  wild  fells  and  deep  valleys,  bowers  were  built  of  the 
materials  with  which  the  hillsides  were  plentifully  feathered 
throughout  that  sylvan  and  mountainous  district,  of  which 
the  old  proverbial  distich  holds  good  to  this  very  day  : 

"  0 !  the  oak,  the  ash,  and  the  bonny  ivy  tree, 
They  flourish  best  at  home  in  the  north  countree." 

Young  sprouts  of  the  juniper,  soft  ferns,  and  the  delicious 
purple  heather,  now  in  its  most  luxurious  flush  of  summer 
bloom  and  perfume,  furnished  agreeable  and  elastic  couches ; 
and,  as  the  stores  carried  by  the  sumpter  mules  had  been 
replenished  by  the  large  hospitality  of  the  prior  of  Bolton, 
heronshaw  and  egret,  partridge  and  moorgame,  wildfowl  and 
venison,  furnished  forth  their  board,  with  pasties  of  carp  and 
eels,  and  potted  trout  and  char  from  the  lakes  whither  they 
were  wending,  and  they  fared  most  like  crowned  heads 
within  the  precincts  of  a  royal  city,  there,  under  the  shadow 
of  the  gray  crags  and  bare  storm-beaten  brow  of  bleak 
Whernside,  there  where,  in  this  nineteenth  century,  the  be 
lated  wayfarer  would  deem  himself  thrice  happy,  if  he  secured 
the  rudest  supper  of  oat-cakes  and  skim-milk  cheese,  with  a 
draught  of  thin  ale,  the  luxuries  of  the  hardy  agricultural 
population  of  the  dales. 


CHAPTER   XIV. 


THE     NEW     HOME. 


Sweetly  blows  the  haw  and  the  rowan-tree, 

"Wild  roses  speck  our  thickets  sao  hriery; 
Still,  still  will  oar  walk  in  the  green-wood  be— 

Oh,  Jeanie !  there  'a  nothing  to  fear  yo." 

HOGG'S  BALLADS. 


ON  the  following  morning  they  entered  Westmoreland; 
and  as  they  approached  the  term  of  their  journey,  advancing 
the  more  rapidly  as  they  entered  the  wilder  and  more  sparsely- 
populated  regions  toward  the  lakes  and  fells,  where  the  castel 
lated  dwellings  of  the  knightly  nobles  and  the  cloisters  of 
the  ecclesiastical  lords  became  few  and  far  between,  they 
reached  Kendal,  then  a  small  hamlet,  with  a  noble  castle 
and  small  priory,  before  noon ;  and,  making  no  stay,  pressed 
onward  to  the  shores  of  Windermere,  which  they  struck, 
not  far  from  the  scattered  cottages  and  small  chapel  of  ease, 
tended  by  two  aged  brothers  from  Kendal,  known  then,  as  it 
is  now,  not  having  grown  much  since  that  day,  as  the  village 
of  Bowness. 

On  the  lake,  moored  at  a  rude  pier,  lay  a  small  but  gayly- 
decorated  yacht,  or  galley,  with  the  arms  of  Sir  Yvo  de  Taille- 
bois  emblazoned  on  its  foresail,  and  a  gay  streamer  flaunting 
from  its  topmast,  awaiting  the  arrival  of  the  party,  which  had 


160  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

been  announced  to  their  vassals  by  a  harbinger  sent  forward 
from  Bolton  Abbey. 

And  here  the  nobles,  with  their  immediate  train,  separated 
from  the  bulk  of  the  party,  the  former  going  on  board  the 
galley,  and  crossing  the  pellucid  waters  of  the  beautiful  lake 
to  Sir  Yvo's  noble  castle,  which  lay  not  a  mile  from  the  strand, 
embosomed  in  a  noble  chase,  richly-wooded  with  superb  oak 
and  ash  forests,  midway  of  the  gentle  and  green  valley  be 
tween  the  lake  and  the  western  mountains,  over  which  his 
demesnes  extended,  while  the  escort,  with  the  horse-boys, 
grooms,  and  servitors,  took  the  longer  and  more  difficult  way 
around  the  head  of  the  lake — a  circuit  of  some  twenty  miles — 
over  the  sites  of  the  modern  towns  of  Ambleside  and  Hawks- 
head,  the  castle  lying  in  Cumberland,  although  the  large 
estates  of  De  Taillebois  extended  for  many  miles  on  both  sides 
the  water,  and  in  both  counties,  being  the  last  grand  feudal 
demesne  on  the  south  side  of  the  mountains. 

Further  to  the  north,  again,  where  the  country  spread  out 
into  plains  beyond  Keswick,  toward  Penrith  and  Carlisle,  and 
the  untamed  Scottish  borders,  there  were  again  found  vast 
feudal  demesnes,  the  property  of  the  Lords  of  the  Marches, 
the  Howards,  the  Percys,  the  Umfravilles,  and  others,  whose 
prowess  defended  the  rich  lowlands  of  York  and  Lancaster 
from  the  incursions  of  the  Border  Riders. 

To  the  north,  the  nearest  neighbor  of  De  Taillebois  was  the 
Threlkeld,  of  Threlkeld  Castle,  on  the  skirts  of  Keswick,  at 
thirty  miles  or  more  of  distance  across  the  pathless  mountains 
of  Sea-fell,  Hellvellyn,  Saddleback,  and  Skiddaw.  Nigher  to 
him,  on  the  south,  and  adjoining  his  lands,  lay  the  estates  of 
the  Abbots  of  Furness;  and  to  the  westward,  beyond  the 


THE    NEW     HOME.  1G1 

wide  range  of  moor  and  mountain,  which  it  took  his  party 
two  days  to  traverse,  and  in  which,  from  Bolton  till  they 
reached  Kendal,  they  had  seen,  according  to  the  words  of  the 
motto  prefixed  to  this  chapter, 


"  neither  rich,  nor  poor, 


But  moss,  and  ling,  and  bare  wild  moor," 

lay  the  lands  of  the  Cliffords  and  the  mighty  Nevilles.  All 
the  inner  country,  among  those  glorious  peaks,  those  deep 
glens,  encumbered  with  old  unshorn  woods,  those  blue  waters, 
undisturbed  by  the  presence  of  a  foreigner,  since  the  eagles 
of  the  ubiquitous  Roman  glittered  above  his-  camps  on  the 
stern  hill-sides,  over  that  most  unprofitable  of  his  conquests, 
was  virgin  ground,  uninhabited,  save  by  fugitive  serfs,  criminal 
refugees  from  justice,  and  some  wild  families  of  liberty-loving 
Saxons,  who  had  fled  to  the  mountains,  living  by  the  strong- 
hand  and  the  bended  bow,  and  content  to  sacrifice  all  else  for 
the  priceless  boon  of  freedom. 

It  was,  perhaps,  the  very  wildness  and  solitude  of  the  local 
ity,  as  much  as  the  exquisite  charm  of  the  loveliest  scenery  in 
England,  to  which,  strange  to  say,  he  was  fully  alive — enhanced 
by  the  certainty  that  in  those  remote  regions,  where  there 
were  no  royal  forests,  nor  any  territorial  magnates  who  could 
in  any  way  rival  himself,  his  forest  rights,  of  which  every  Nor 
man  was  constitutionally  jealous,  were  perfectly  intangible  and 
unassailable — which  had  so  much  attached  Sir  Yvo  de  Taille- 
bois  to  his  Cumbrian  castle  of  High  Furness,  in  preference  to 
all  his  fair  estates  and  castles  in  the  softer  and  more  cultivated 
portions  of  the  realm. 

Certain  it  is,  that  he  did  love  it  better  than  all  his  other 


1C2  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

Lands  united ;  and  hither  he  resorted,  whenever  he  could  es 
cape  from  the  duties  of  camps  and  the  restraint  of  courts,  to 
live  a  life  among  his  vassals,  his  feudal  tenants,  and  his  hum 
bler  villagers,  more  like  that  of  an  Oriental  patriarch  than  of 
a  Norman  warrior,  but  for  the  feudal  pomp  which  graced  his 
castle  halls,  and  swelled  his  mountain  hunts  into  a  mimicry 
of  warfare. 

At  about  ten  miles  distant  across  the  lake,  up  toward  the 
lower  spurs  of  the  north-eastern  mountains,  lies  the  small  lake 
of  Kentmere,  the  head-waters  and  almost  the  spring  of  the 
river  Kent ;  which,  flowing  down  southward  through  the  vale 
of  Kendal,  falls  into  the  western  head  of  Morecambe  Bay, 
having  its  embouchure  guarded  by  the  terrible  sands  of  Lan 
caster,  so  fatal  to  foot-passengers,  owing  to  the  terrific  influx 
of  the  entering  tides. 

Set  like  a  gem  of  purest  water  in  a  rough  frame  of  savage 
mountains,  their  lower  sides  mantled  with  rich  deciduous 
woods,  their  purple  heathery  brows  dotted  with  huge  Scotch 
firs,  single,  or  in  romantic  groups,  their  scalps  bald  and 
broken,  of  gray  and  schistous  rock,  Kentmere  fills  up  the 
whole  basin  of  the  dell  it  occupies,  with  the  exception  of  a 
verge  of  smooth,  green  meadow-land,  never  above  a  hundred 
or  .two  of  yards  in  width,  margined  with  a  silvery  stripe  of 
snow-white  sand,  and  studded  by  a  few  noble  oaks. 

At  the  head  of  the  lake,  half  encircled  by  the  dancing  brook 
which  formed  its  only  inlet,  rose  a  soft  swell  of  ground,  smooth 
and  round-headed,  neither  hill  nor  hillock  ;  its  southern  face, 
toward  the  lake,  cleared  of  wood,  and  covered  with  short, 
close  greensward,  its  flanks  and  brow  overgrown  with  luxuri 
ant  oak-wood  of  the  second  growth,  interspersed  with  var- 


THE     NEW     HOME.  103 

nished  hollies,  silver-stemmed  birches,  and  a  score  or  two  of 
gigantic  fir-trees,  overtopping  the  pale  green  foliage  of  the 
coppice,  and  contrasting  its  lightsome  tints  by  their  almost 
sable  hue. 

Behind  this  fairy  knoll  the  hill  rose  in  rifted  perpendicular 
faces  of  rock,  garlanded  and  crowned  with  hanging  coppices, 
for  two  or  three  hundred  feet  in  height ;  the  nesting-place  of 
noble  falcons,  peregrines,  gosshawks,  haggards  of  the  rock, 
and  of  a  single  pair  of  golden  eagles,  the  terror  of  the  dale 
from  time  immemorial. 

In  all  lake  land,  there  is  no  lovelier  spot  than  Kentmere. 
The  deep  meadows  by  its  side  in  early  spring  are  one  glowing 
garden  of  many-colored  crocuses,  golden,  white,  purple  lady- 
smocks,  yellow  king-cups,  and  all  sweet  and  gay-garbed  flow 
ers  that  love  the  water-side ;  the  rounded  knoll  and  all  the 
oak-wood  sides  arc  alive  with  saffron  primroses,  cowslips,  and 
meadow-sweets ;  and  the  air  is  rife  with  the  perfume  of  un 
numbered  violets,  and  vocal  with  the  song  of  countless 
warblers. 

And  on  the  mid  slope  of  that  rounded,  bosomlike  swell  of 
land,  there  stood,  at  the  period  of  my  tale,  a  low  stone  build 
ing  of  one  story,  long  for  its  height,  narrow,  and  massively 
built  of  blocks  of  the  native  gray  stone  of  the  hills,  with  a 
projecting  roof  of  heavy  flags,  forming  a  porch  over  the  door, 
and  two  chimneys,  one  at  either  end,  of  a  form  peculiar,  to 
this  day,  to  that  district,  each  covered  with  a  flat  stone  slab 
supported  on  four  columns,  to  prevent  the  smoke  from  driving 
down  into  the  chambers,  under  the  influence  of  the  whirling 
gusts  from  the  mountain  tops. 

Glass  windows  were  unknown  in  those  days,  save  to  the 


164  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

castellated  mansions  of  the  great,  or  the  noble  minsters  and 
cathedrals  of  the  great  cities — the  art  having  been  first  intro 
duced,  after  the  commencement  of  the  dark  ages,  in  the  reign 
of  Edward  the  Confessor,  although  it  must  have  been  well 
known  and  of  common  occurrence  in  England  during  its  oc 
cupation  by  the  Romans,  who  used  glass  for  windows  as  well 
as  implements  so  early  as  the  time  of  Cicero,  and  who  would 
seem  to  have  brought  its  manufacture  to  a  perfection  unat 
tainable  by  us  moderns,  since  it  is  credibly  asserted  that  they 
had  the  art  to  render  it  malleable.  Horn  and  talc,  or  oiled 
parchment,  were  used  by  the  middle  classes,  but  this  was  a 
luxury  confined  to  the  dwellers  in  towns ;  and  the  square 
mullioned  apertures,  which  here  served  for  windows,  were 
closed  by  day  and  in  fine  weather  by  slender  lattices,  and 
during  storms  or  at  night  by  wooden  shutters.  The  want  of 
these  luxuries,  however,  being  unknown,  was  unregarded ; 
and  the  verdurer's  house  at  Kentmere  was  regarded  in  those 
days  as  a  fine  specimen  of  rural  architecture,  and  stood  as  high 
by  comparison  as  many  an  esquire's  hall  of  the  present  day. 

For  the  rest,  it  was  partly  overrun  with  ivy  and  woodbine, 
and  was  overhung  at  the  western  end  by  a  noble  mountain- 
ash,  from  under  the  roots  of  which  welled  out  a  small  crystal 
spring,  and  sheltered  to  the  east  by  a  group  of  picturesque 
Scotch  firs.  An  out-building  or  two,  a  stone  barn,  a  cow 
house,  and  what,  by  the  baying  and  din  of  hounds,  was 
clearly  a  dog-kennel,  stood  a  little  way  aloof,  under  the  skirts 
of  the  coppice,  and  completed  the  appurtenances  of  what  was 
then  deemed  a  very  perfect  dwelling  for  a  small  rural  propri 
etor,  and  would  be  held  now  a  very  tolerable  mountain  farm 
house  for  a  tenant  cotter. 


THE     NEW     HOME.  165 

This  was  the  new  home  of  Kenric  and  Edith,  now  by  the 
good  offices  of  the  old  curate  of  Bowness  made  man  and  wife ; 
and  here,  with  the  good  old  mother  nodding  and  knitting  by 
the  hearth,  and  two  stout  boys,  Kenric's  varlets,  to  tend  the 
hounds  and  hawks,  and  to  do  the  offices  of  the  small  hill  farm, 
they  dwelt  as  happy  as  the  day  ;  he  occupying  the  responsible 
position  of  head-forester  of  upper  Kentdale,  and  warder  of  the 
cotters,  shepherds,  and  verdurers,  whose  cottages  were  scat 
tered  in  the  woods  and  over  the  hill-sides,  and  both  secure  in 
the  favor  of  their  lovely  lady,  and  proud  of  the  confidence  of 
their  lord. 


CHAPTER    XV. 


THE    OLD    HOME. 


'  Your  kniglit  for  his  lady  pricks  forth  in  career, 
And  is  brought  home  at  even-song,  pricked  through  with  a  spear." 

IYANHOE. 


THAT  was  a  dark  day  for  Eadwulf,  on  which  the  train  of 
Sir  Yvo  de  Taillebois  departed  from  the  tower  of  Waltheof- 
stow ;  and  thenceforth  the  discontented,  dark-spirited  man 
became  darker,  more  morose  and  gloomy,  until  his  temper 
had  got  to  such  a  pass  that  he  was  shunned  and  avoided  by 
every  one,  even  of  his  own  fellows. 

It  is  true,  that  in  the  condition  of  slavery,  in  the  being  one 
of  a  despised  and  a  detested  caste,  in  being  compelled  to 
labor  for  the  benefit  of  others  than  himself,  in  the  being  liable 
at  any  moment  to  be  sold,  together  with  the  glebe  to  which  he 
is  attached  for  life,  like  the  ox  or  ass  with  which  he  toils  as  a 
companion,  there  is  not  much  to  promote  contentedness,  to 
foster  a  quiet,  placable,  and  gentle  disposition,  to  render  any 
man  more  just,  or  grateful,  or  forbearing  to  his  fellows.  Least 
of  all  is  it  so,  where  there  is  in  the  slave  just  enough  of 
knowledge,  of  civilization,  of  higher  nurture,  to  enable  him  to 
desire  freedom  in  the  abstract,  to  pine  for  it  as  a  right  denied, 
and  to  hale  those  by  whom  he  is  deprived  of  it,  without 


THE     OLD     HOME.  167 

comprehending  its  real  value,  or  in  the  least  appreciating 
either  the  privileges  which  it  confers  or  the  duties  which  it 
imposes  on  the  freeman — least  of  all,  when  the  man  has  from 
nature  received  a  churlish,  gloomy,  sullen  temperament,  such 
as  would  be  likely  to  make  to  itself  a  fanciful  adversity  out 
of  actual  prosperity,  to  resent  all  opposition  to  its  slightest 
wish  as  an  injury,  and  to  envy,  almost  to  the  length  of  hating, 
every  one  more  fortunate  than  himself. 

It  may,  however,  as  all  other  conditions  of  inferiority,  of 
sorrow,  or  of  suffering,  be  rendered  lighter  and  more  tolerable 
by  the  mode  of  bearing  it.  Not  that  one  would  desire  to  see 
any  man,  whether  reduced  by  circumstances  to  that  condition, 
or  held  to  it  from  his  birth,  so  far  reduced  to  a  tame  and 
senseless  submission  as  to  accept  it  as  his  natural  state,  or  to 
endure  it  apathetically,  without  an  effort  at  raising  himself  to 
his  proper  position  in  the  scale  of  humanity  and  nature. 

It  is  perfectly  consistent  with  the  utmost  abhorrence  of  the 
condition,  and  the  most  thorough  determination  to  escape 
from  it  by  any  means  lawful  to  a  Christian,  to  endure  what 
is  unavoidable,  and  to  do  that  which  must  be  done,  bravely, 
patiently,  well,  and  therefore  nobly. 

But  it  was  not  in  the  nature  of  Eadwulf  to  take  either  part. 
His  rugged,  stubborn,  animal  character,  was  as  little  capable 
of  forming  any  scheme  for  his  own  prospective  liberation,  to 
which  energy,  and  a  firm,  far-reaching  will,  should  be  the 
agents,  as  it  was  either  to  endure  patiently  or  to  labor  well. 

Perpetually  remiss,  working  reluctantly  and  badly,  ever  a 
recusant,  a  recreant,  a  sullen  and  morose  grumbler,  while  he 
in  no  respect  lightened,  but,  it  is  probable,  rather  enhanced 
his  difficulties,  he  detracted  from  what  slight  hope  there 


168  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

might  exist  of  liis  future  emancipation,  by  carefully,  as  it 
would  seem,  conciliating  the  ill-opinion  and  ill-will  of  all 
men,  whether  his  equals  or  his  superiors — while  he  entirely 
neglected  to  earn  or  amass  such  small  sums  as  might  be  within 
his  reach,  and  as  might  perhaps,  in  the  end,  suffice  to  purchase 
his  liberation. 

So  long  as  Kenric  and  his  mother  remained  in  the  hamlet 
of  Waltheofstow,  and  he  was  permitted  to  associate  with  them 
in  their  quarter,  in  consequence  of  the  character  for  patience, 
honesty,  fidelity,  and  good  conduct,  which  his  brother  had 
acquired  with  his  masters,  Eadwulf 's  temper  had  been  in  some 
sort  restrained  by  the  influence,  unconfessed  indeed,  and  only 
half-endured  with  sullen  reluctance,  which  that  brother  ob 
tained  over  him,  through  his  clearer  and  stronger  intellect. 
But  when  they  had  departed,  and  when  he  found  himself 
ejected,  as  a  single  man  in  the  first  place,  and  yet  more  as  one 
marked  for  a  bad  servant  and  a  dangerous  character,  from  the 
best  cottage  in  the  quarter,  to  which  he  had  begun  to  fancy 
himself  of  right  entitled,  he  became  worse  and  worse,  until, 
even  in  the  sort  of  barrack  or  general  lodging  of  the  male 
slaves  of  the  lowest  order,  he  was  regarded  by  his  fellows  as 
the  bad  spirit  of  the  set,  and  was  never  sought  by  any,  unless  as 
the  ringleader  in  some  act  of  villainy,  wickedness,  or  rebellion. 

It  is  probable,  moreover,  that  the  beauty  and  innocence  of 
Edith,  who,  however  averse  she  might  be  to  the  temper  and 
disposition  of  the  man,  had  been  wont,  since  her  betrothal  to 
his  brother,  to  treat  him  with  a  certain  friendship  and  familiar 
ity,  might  have  had  some  influence  in  modifying  his  manner, 

,4 

at  least,  and  curbing  the  natural  display  of  his  passionate  yet 
sullen  disposition. 


THE     OLD     HOME.  169 

Certain  it  is,  that  in  some  sort  he  loved  her — as  much,  per 
haps,  as  his  sensual  and  unintelligent  soul  would  allow  him 
to  love ;  and  though  he  never  had  shown  any  predilection, 
never  had  made  any  effort  to  conciliate  her  favor,  nor  dared 
to  attempt  any  rivalry  of  his  brother,  whom  he  wholly  feared, 
and  half-hated  for  his  assumed  superiority,  he  sorely  felt  her 
absence,  regretted  her  liberation  from  slavery,  and  even  felt 
aggrieved  at  it,  since  he  could  not  share  her  new  condition. 

His  brother's  freedom  he  resented  as  a  positive  injury  done 
to  himself;  and  his  bearing  away  with  him  the  beautiful 
Edith,  soon  to  become  his  bride,  he  looked  on  in  the  light  of 
a  fraudulent  or  forcible  abstraction  of  his  own  property.  From 
that  moment,  he  became  utterly  brutalized  and  bad ;  he  was 
constantly  ordered  for  punishment,  and  at  length  he  got  to 
such  a  pitch  of  idleness,  insolence,  and  rebellion,  that  Sir 
Philip  de  Morville,  though,  in  his  reluctance  to  resort  to  cor 
poreal  punishment,  he  would  not  allow  him  to  be  scourged  or 
set  in  the  stocks,  ordered  his  seneschal  to  take  steps  for  selling 
him  to  some  merchant,  who  would  undertake  to  transport 
him  to  one  of  the  English  colonies  in  Ireland. 

Circumstances,  however,  occurred,  which  changed  the  fate 
both  of  the  master  and  the  slave,  and  led  in  the  end  to  the 
events,  which  form  the  most  striking  portion  of  the  present 
narrative. 

For  some  time  past,  as  was  known  throughout  all  the  re 
gion,  Sir  Philip  de  Morville  had  been,  if  not  actually  at  feud, 
at  least  on  terms  of  open  enmity  with  the  nobleman  whose 
lands  marched  with  his  own  on  the  forest  side,  Sir  Foulke 
d'Oilly — a  man  well-advanced  in  years,  most  of  which  he  had 
spent  in  constant  marauding  warfare,  a  hated  oppressor  and 

8 


170  S  H  E  II  W  0  0  D     F  O  R  E  S  T . 

tyrant  to  his  tenantry  and  vassals,  and  regarded,  among  his 
Norman  neighbors  and  comrades,  as  an  unprincipled,  dis 
courteous,  and  cruel  man. 

With  this  man,  recently,  fresh  difficulties  had  arisen  con 
cerning  some  disputed  rights  of  chase,  and  on  a  certain  day, 
within  a  month  after  the  departure  of  Sir  Yvo  de  Taillebois, 
the  two  nobles,  meeting  on  the  debatable  ground,  while  in 
pursuit  of  the  chase,  under  very  aggravating  circumstances, 
the  hounds  of  both  parties  having  fallen  on  the  scent  of  the 
same  stag,  high  words  passed — a  few  arrows  were  shot  by  the 
retainers  on  both  sides,  Sir  Philip's  being  much  the  more 
numerous  ;  a  forester  of  Sir  Foulke  d'Oilly's  train  was  slain ; 
and,  had  it  not  been  for  the  extreme  forbearance  of  De  Mor- 
ville,  a  conflict  would  have  ensued,  which  could  have  term 
inated  only  in  the  total  discomfiture  of  his  rival  and  all  his 
men. 

This  forbearance,  however,  effected  no  good  end ;  for,  be 
fore  the  barons  parted,  some  words  passed  between  them  in 
private,  which  were  not  heard  by  any  of  their  immediate  fol 
lowers,  and  the  effect  of  which  was  known  only  by  the  con 
sequences  which  soon  ensued. 

On  the  following  morning,  at  the  break  of  day,  before  the 
earliest  of  the  serfs  were  summoned  to  their  labors,  the  castle 
draw-bridge  was  lowered,  and  Sir  Philip  rode  forth  on  his 
destrier,  completely  armed,  but  followed  only  by  a  single 
esquire  in  his  ordinary  attire. 

The  vizor  of  the  knight's  square-topped  helmet  was  lowered, 
and  the  mail-hood  drawn  closely  over  it.  His  habergeon  of 
glittering  steel-rings,  his  mail-hose,  fortified  on  the  shoulders 
and  at  the  knees  by  plates  of  polished  steel,  called  poldrons 


THE     OLD     HOME.  171 

and  splents,  shone  like  silver  through  the  twilight ;  his  tri 
angular  shield  hung  about  his  neck,  his  great  two-handed 
broad-sword  from  his  left  shoulder  to  his  heel,  and  his  long 
steel-headed  lance  was  grasped  in  his  right  hand  ;  none  could 
doubt  that  he  was  riding  forth  to  do  battle,  but  it  was  strange 
that  he  wore  no  surcoat  of  arms  over  his  plain  mail,  that  no 
trumpet  preceded,  no  banner  was  borne  behind  him,  no  retain 
ers,  save  that  one  unarmed  man,  in  his  garb  of  peace,  followed 
the  bridle  of  their  lord. 

He  rode  away  slowly  down  the  hill,  through  the  serfs  quar 
ter,  into  the  wood  ;  the  warder  from  the  turret  saw  him  turn 
and  gaze  back  wistfully  toward  his  hereditary  towers,  per 
haps  half  prescient  that  he  should  see  them  no  more.  He 
turned,  and  was  lost  to  view ;  nor  did  any  eye  of  his  faithful 
vassals  look  on  him  in  life  again. 

Noon  came,  and  the  dinner  hour,  but  the  knight  came  not 
to  the  banquet  hall — evening  fell,  and  there  were  no  tidings  ; 
but,  at  nightfall,  Eadwulf  came  in,  pale,  ghastly,  and  terrified, 
and  announced  that  the  knight  and  the  esquire  both  lay  dead 
with  their  horses  in  a  glade  of  the  wood,  not  far  from  the 
scene  of  the  quarrel  of  the  preceding  day,  on  the  banks  of  the 
river  Idle.  No  tune  was  lost.  With  torch  and  cresset,  bow 
and  spear,  the  household  hurried,  under  their  appointed  of 
ficers,  to  the  fatal  spot,  and  soon  found  the  tidings  of  the  serf 
to  be  but  too  true. 

The  knight  and  his  horse  lay  together,  as  they  had  fallen, 
both  stricken  down  at  the  same  instant,  in  full  career  as  it 
would  seem,  by  a  sudden  and  instantaneous  death-stroke. 
The  warrior,  though  prostrate,  still  sat  the  horse  as  if  in  life  ; 
he  was  not  unhelmed  ;  his  shield  was  still  about  his  neck  ; 


172  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

his  lance  was  yet  in  the  rest,  the  shaft  unbroken,  and  the 
point  unbloodied — the  animal  lay  with  its  legs  extended,  as  if 
it  had  been  at  full  speed  when  the  fatal  stroke  overtook  it. 
A  barbed  clothyard  arrow  had  been  shot  directly  into  its 
breast,  piercing  the  heart  through  and  through,  by  some  one 
in  full  front  of  the  animal ;  and  a  lance  point  had  entered  the 
throat  of  the  rider,  above  the  edge  of  the  shield  which  hung 
about  his  neck,  coming  out  between  the  shoulders  behind, 
and  inflicting  a  wound  which  must  have  been  instantaneously 
mortal. 

Investigation  of  the  ground  showed  that  many  horses  had 
been  concealed  or  ambushed  in  a  neighboring  dingle,  within 
easy  arrow-shot  of  the  murdered  baron ;  that  two  horsemen 
had  encountered  him  in  the  glade,  one  of  whom,  he  by  whose 
lance  he  had  fallen,  had  charged  him  in  full  career. 

It  was  evident  to  the  men-at-arms,  that  Sir  Philip's  charger 
had  been  treacherously  shot  dead  in  full  career,  by  an  archer 
ambushed  in  the  brake,  at  the  very  moment  when  he  was  en 
countering  his  enemy  at  the  lance's  point ;  and  that,  as  the 
horse  was  in  the  act  of  falling,  he  had  been  bored  through 
from  above,  before  his  own  lance  had  touched  the  other 
rider. 

The  esquire  had  been  cut  down  and  hacked  with  many 
wounds  of  axes  and  two-handed  swords,  one  of  his  arms  being 
completely  severed  from  the  trunk,  and  his  skull  cleft  asunder 
by  a  ghastly  blow.  His  horse's  brains  had  been  dashed  out 
with  a  mace,  probably  after  the  slaughter  of  the  rider ;  and 
that  this  part  of  the  deed  of  horror  had  been  accomplished 
by  many  armed  men,  dismounted,  and  not  by  the  slayer  of 
De  Morville,  was  evident,  from  the  number  of  mailed  and 


THE     OLD     HOME.  1*73 

booted  footsteps  deeply  imprinted  in  the  turf  around  the  car 
cases  of  the  murdered  men  and  butchered  animals. 

Efforts  were  made  immediately  to  track  the  assassins  by  the 
slot,  several,  both  of  the  men-at-arms  and  of  the  Yorksire  for 
esters,  being  expert  at  the  art ;  but  their  skill  was  at  fault, 
as  well  as  the  scent  of  the  slow-hounds,  which  were  laid  on 
the  trail ;  for,  within  a  few  hundred  yards  of  the  spot,  the 
party  had  entered  the  channel  of  the  river  Idle,  and  probably 
followed  its  course  upward,  to  a  place  where  it  flowed  over  a 
sheet  of  hard,  slaty,  rock ;  and  where  the  land  farther  back 
consisted  of  a  dry,  sun-burned,  upland  waste,  of  short,  summer- 
parched  turf,  which  took  no  impression  of  the  horses'  hoofs. 

There  was  no  proof,  nor  any  distinct  circumstantial  evi 
dence  ;  yet  none  doubted  any  more  than  if  they  had  beheld 
the  doing  of  the  dastardly  deed,  that  the  good  Lord  de  Morville 
had  fallen  by  the  hand  of  Sir  Foulke  d'Oilly  and  of  his  asso 
ciates  in  blood-shedding. 

For  the  rest,  the  good  knight  lay  dead,  leaving  no  child, 
wife,  brother,  nor  any  near  relation,  who  should  inherit  either 
his  honors  or  his  lands.  He  had  left  neither  testament  nor 
next  of  kin.  Literally,  he  had  died,  and  made  no  sign. 

The  offices  of  the  church  were  done  duly,  the  masses  were 
chanted  over  the  dead,  and  the  last  remains  of  the  good 
knight  were  consigned  to  dust  in  the  chapel  vaults  of  his  an 
cestral  castle,  never  to  descend  to  posterity  of  his,  or  to  bear 
his  name  again  forever. 

In  a  few  days  it  was  made  known  that  Sir  Philip  had  died 
deeply  indebted  to  the  Jews  of  York,  of  Tadcaster,  even  of 
London ;  that  his  estates,  all  of  which  were  unentailed  and  in 
his  own  right,  were  heavily  mortgaged  ;  and  that  the  lands 


174  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

would  be  sold  to  satisfy  the  creditors  of  tlie  deceased.  Shortly 
after,  it  was  whispered  abroad,  and  soon  proclaimed  aloud, 
that  Sir  Foulke  d'Oilly  had  become  purchaser  of  whatever 
was  saleable,  and  had  been  confirmed  by  the  royal  mandate 
in  the  possession  of  the  seigneurial  and  feudal  rights  of  the 
lapsed  fief  of  Waltheofstow.  There  had  been  none  to  draw 
attention  to  the  suspicions  which  weighed  so  heavily  against 
Sir  Foulke  in  the  neighborhood,  and  among  the  followers  of 
the  dead  knight ;  they  were  men  of  small  rank  and  no  in 
fluence,  and  had  no  motive  to  induce  them  wantonly  to  incur 
the  hatred  of  the  most  powerful  and  unscrupulous  noble  of 
the  vicinity,  by  bringing  charges  which  they  had  no  means  to 
substantiate,  if  true,  and  which,  to  disprove,  it  was  probable 
that  he  had  contrivances  already  prepared  by  false  witness. 

Within  a  little  while,  Sir  Foulke  d'Oilly  assumed  his  rights 
territorial  and  seigneurial ;  but  he  removed  not  in  person  to 
Waltheofstow,  continuing  to  reside  in  his  own  larger  and 
more  magnificent  castle  of  Fenton  in  the  Forest,  within  a  few 
miles'  distance,  and  committing  the  whole  management  of  his 
estates  and  governance  of  his  serfs  to  a  hard,  stern,  old  man- 
atnarms,  renowned  for  his  cruel  valor,  whom  he  installed  as 
the  seneschal  of  the  fief,  with  his  brother  acting  as  bailiff 
under  him,  and  a  handful  of  fierce,  marauding,  free  com 
panions,  as  a  garrison  to  the  castle. 

The  retainers  of  the  old  lord  were  got  rid  of  peacefully,  their 
dues  of  pay  being  made  up  to  them,  and  themselves  dismissed, 
with  some  small  gratuity.  One  by  one  the  free  tenants  threw 
up  the  farms  which  they  rented,  or  resigned  the  fiefs  which  they 
held  on  man-service  ;  and,  before  Sir  Philip  had  been  a  month 
cold  in  his  grave,  not  a  soul  was  left  in  the  place,  of  its  old  in- 


THE     OLD     HOME.  175 

habitants,  except  the  miserable  Saxon  serfs,  to  whom  change  of 
masters  brought  no  change  of  place ;  and  who,  regarded  as 
little  better  than  mere  brutes  of  burden,  were  scarce  distin 
guished  one  from  the  other,  or  known  by  name,  to  their  new 
and  vicarious  rulers.  On  them  fell  the  most  heavily  the  sud 
den  blow  which  had  deprived  them  of  a  just,  a  reasonable, 
and  a  merciful  lord,  as  justice  and  mercy  went  in  those  days, 
and  consigned  them  defenseless  and  helpless  slaves,  to  one 
among  the  cruellest  oppressors  of  that  cruel  and  benighted 
period — and,  worse  yet  than  that,  mere  chattels  at  the  mercy 
of  an  underling,  crueller  even  than  his  lord,  and  wanting  even 
in  the  sordid  interest  which  the  owner  must  needs  feel  in  the 
physical  welfare  of  his  property. 

"Woe,  indeed,  woe  worth  the  day,  to  the  serfs  of  Waltheof- 
stow,  when  they  fell  into  the  hands  of  Sir  Foulke  d'Oilly, 
and  tasted  of  the  mercies  of  his  seneschal,  Black  Hugonet  of 
Fenton  in  the  Forest ! 

It  was  some  considerable  time  before  the  news  of  this  foul 
murder  reached  the  ears  of  Sir  Yvo  de  Taillebois ;  and  when 
it  did  become  known  to  him,  and  measures  were  taken 
by  him  to  reclaim  the  manor  of  Waltheofstow,  in  virtue 
of  the  mortgage  he  had  redeemed,  it  was  found  that  so 
many  prior  claims,  and  that  to  so  enormous  an  extent,  were 
in  existence,  as  to  swallow  up  the  whole  of  the  estates,  leav 
ing  Sir  Yvo  a  loser  of  the  nineteen  thousand  zecchins  which 
he  had  advanced,  with  nothing  to  show  in  return  for  his  out 
lay  beyond  the  freedom  of  Kenric  and  his  family. 

The  good  knight,  however,  was  too  rich  to  be  seriously 
affected  by  the  circumstance,  and  of  too  noble  and  liberal  a 
strain  to  regret  deeply  the  mere  loss  of  superabundant  and 


176  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

unnnecessary  gold.  But  not  so  did  lie  regard  the  death 
of  his  dear  companion  and  brother  in  arms ;  yet,  though  he 
caused  inquiries  to  be  set  on  foot  as  to  the  mode  of  his 
decease,  so  many  difficulties  intervened,  and  the  whole  affair 
was  plunged  in  so  deep  a  mystery  and  obscurity,  that  he  was 
compelled  to  abandon  the  pursuit  reluctantly,  until,  after 
months  had  elapsed,  unforeseen  events  opened  an  unexpected 
clew  to  the  fatal  truth. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 


THE     ESCAPE. 


Then  said  King  Florentyne, 
"What  noise  is  this?    'Fore  Saint  Martyn, 
Some  man,"  he  said,  "in  my  franchise, 
Hath  slain  my  deer  and  bloweth  the  prize." 

Gtrr  OF  "WARWICK. 


ONE  of  those  serfs,  Eadwulf,  was  little  disposed  to  resign 
himself  tranquilly  to  his  fate ;  as  within  a  short  period  after 
the  occupation  of'Waltheofstow  by  the  new  seneschal,  his 
wonted  contumacy  had  brought  him  into  wonted  disgrace 
and  condemnation,  and,  there  being  no  longer  any  clemency 
overruling  the  law  for  the  mitigation  of  such  penalties  as 
should  seem  needful,  the  culprit  was  on  several  occasions 
cruelly  scourged,  and  imprisoned  in  the  lowest  vaults  of  the 
castle  dungeon. 

Maddened  by  this  treatment,  he  at  length  resolved  to 
escape  at  all  risks,  and  knowing  every  path  and  dingle  of  the 
forest,  he  nattered  himself  that  he  should  easily  elude  pur 
suers  who  were  strange,  as  yet,  to  that  portion  of  the  coun 
try  ;  and  having,  on  the  departure  of  his  brother,  contrived 
stealthily  to  possess  himself  of  the  crossbow  and  bolts  which 
had  belonged  to  him,  being  intrusted  to  his  care  as  an  un 
usual  boon,  owing  to  his  good  conduct  and  his  occupation 

8* 


178  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

as  a  sort  of  underkeeper  in  the  chase,  fancied  that  he  should 
be  able  easily  to  support  himself  by  killing  game  in  the 
forests  through  which  he  must  make  his  way,  until  he  should 
arrive  at  the  new  residence  of  that  brother,  where  he  doubted 
not  of  finding  comfort  and  assistance. 

During  the  days  which  had  elapsed  between  the  eman 
cipation  of  Kenric  and  his  departure  from  the  castle,  much 
had  been  ascertained,  both  by  the  new  freeman  and  his 
beautiful  betrothed,  concerning  the  route  which  led  to  their 
future  abode,  its  actual  position,  and  the  wild  and  savage 
nature  of  the  country  on  which  it  abutted. 

All  this  had  naturally  enough  become  known  to  Eadwulf ; 
and  he,  having  once  been  carried  as  far  as  to  Lancaster  by  the 
late  lord's  equerry,  to  help  in  bringing  home  some  recently- 
purchased  war-horses,  knew  well  the  general  direction  of  the 
route,  and,  having  heard,  while  there,  of  the  fordable  nature 
of  the  Lancastrian  sands,  made  little  doubt  of  being  able  to 
find  his  way  to  his  brother,  and  by  his  aid  to  gain  the  wild 
hills,  where  he  trusted  to  subsist  himself  as  a  hunter  and  out 
law  on  the  vast  and  untraversed  heaths  to  the  northward. 

It  was  his  hope  to  gain  sufficient  start,  in  the  first  instance, 
to  enable  him  to  make  off  so  long  before  his  absence  should 
be  discovered,  that  bloodhounds  could  not  be  laid  on  his 
track  until  the  scent  should  be  already  cold  ;  and  then  keep 
ing  the  forest-ground,  and  avoiding  all  cleared  or  cultivated 
lands,  t.o  cross  the  Lancaster  sands,  and  thence,  by  following 
up  the  course  of  the  Kent  River,  on  which  he  knew  Kenric 
would  be  stationed  as  verdurer,  to  gain  the  interior  labyrinth 
of  fells,  moors,  morasses,  and  ravines,  which  at  that  time 
occupied  the  greater  part  of  Westmoreland  and  Cumberland. 


THE     ESCAPE.  179 

To  this  end,  he  managed  to  conceal  himself  at  nightfall  not 
far  from  the  quarter,  before  the  serfs  had  collected  in  their 
dormitory,  intending  to  prosecute  his  flight  so  soon  as  the 
neighborhood  should  be  steeped  in  the  silence  of  night,  and 
the  moon  should  give  him  sufficient  light  to  find  his  way 
through  the  deep  forest  mazes ;  and  thus,  before  daybreak, 
was  already  some  twenty  miles  distant  from  Waltheofstow, 
where  he  concealed  himself  in  a  deep  hazel  brake,  intending 
to  sleep  away  the  hours  of  daylight,  and  resume  his  flight 
once  more  during  the  partial  darkness  of  the  night. 

It  was  true  that  his  route  lay  through  the  woodland-chase, 
which  spread  far  and  wide  over  the  environs  of  Fenton  in  the 
Forest,  and  was  the  property  of  his  new  master ;  but  for  this 
he  cared  little,  since  there  had  been  so  small  intercourse 
between  the  tenantry  and  vassals  of  his  late  lord  and  those  of 
Sir  Foulke  D'Oilly,  that  he  had  no  fears  of  being  recognized 
by  any  chance  retainer  whom  he  might  possibly  encounter, 
while  he  knew  that,  should  he  chance  to  be  discovered  by  a 
passing  serf  of  his  own  oppressed  race,  he  should  not  be 
betrayed  by  them  to  their  mutual  tyrants.  Armed,  therefore, 
at  large,  and  already  at  a  considerable  distance  from  the  scene 
of  his  captivity,  he  considered  himself  well-nigh  safe  when  he 
concealed  himself,  in  the  early  gray  of  the  dawn,  in  such 
a  dingle  as  he  felt  sure  would  secure  him  from  the  chance 
intrusion  of  any  casual  wayfarers. 

Under  one  difficulty,  however,  he  sorely  labored.  He  had 
been  unable  to  carry  with  him  any  provision,  however  slen 
der  ;  and  he  must  depend  on  his  skill  as  a  forester  for  his 
sustenance,  by  poaching  in  the  woods  which  he  had  to  tra 
verse,  and  cooking  his  game  as  best  he  might,  borrowing  an 


180  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

hour  or  two  of  the  darkness  for  the  purpose,  and  kindling  his 
fire  in  the  most  remote  and  obscure  places,  to  avoid  danger 
of  the  smoke  being  observed  by  day,  or  the  glare  of  the  fire 
by  night. 

He  had  lost  his  evening  meal  on  the  previous  day,  and  the 
appetite  of  the  Saxon  peasant  was  proverbially  mighty ; 
while,  as  is  ever  the  case  with  men  who  have  no  motives  to 
self-restraint  or  economy,  abstinence  was  an  unknown  power. 

It  was  vastly  to  his  joy,  therefore,  that  when  the  sun  was 
getting  fairly  above  the  horizon,  after  he  had  been  himself 
lurking  an  hour  or  two  in  the  thick  covert,  he  saw  among  the 
branches  a  noble  stag  come  picking  his  way  daintily  along  a 
deer-path  which  skirted  the  dingle,  accompanied  by  two  slim 
and  graceful  does,  evidently  intending  to  lay  up,  during  the 
day,  in  the  very  brake  which  he  unwittingly  had  occupied. 

He  had  no  sooner  espied  the  animal,  which  was  coming 
down  wind  upon  him,  utterly  unconscious  of  the  proximity 
of  his  direst  foe,  then  he  crouched  low  among  the  fern,  fitted 
a  quarrel  to  the  string  of  his  arbalast,  and  waited  until 
his  game  was  within  ten  paces  of  his  ambush. 

Then  the  winch  was  released,  the  bow  twanged,  and  the 
forked  head  of  the  ponderous  bolt  crashed  through  the  brain 
of  the  noble  stag.  One  great  bound  he  made,  covering 
six  yards  of  forest  soil  in  that  last  leap  of  the  death  agony, 
and  then  laid  dead  almost  at  the  feet  of  his  unseen  destroyer. 
The  terrified  does  fled  in  wild  haste  into  the  opener  parts 
of  the  forest,  and,  in  an  instant,  the  keen  wood-knife  of 
the  Saxon  had  pierced  the  throat  of  the  deer,  and  selected 
such  portions,  carved  from  the  still  quivering  carcase,  as 
he  could  most  easily  carry  with  him.  These  thrust  carefully 


THE     ESCAPE.  181 

into  the  sort  of  hunting-pouch,  or  wallet,  which  he  wore  slung 
under  his  left  arm,  he  proceeded,  with  the  utmost  wariness 
and  caution,  to  cover  up  the  slaughtered  beast  with  boughs 
of  the  trees  and  brackens,  rejoicing  in  his  secret  soul  that  he 
had  secured  to  himself  -provision  for  two  days  longer  at  the 
least,  and  hoping  that  on  the  fourth  morning  he  would  be  in 
security,  beyond  the  broad  expanse  of  Morecambe  Bay. 

But  wonderfully  deceitful  are  the  hopes  of  the  human 
heart ;  and,  in  the  present  instance,  as  often  is  the  case,  the 
very  facts  which  he  regarded  as  most  auspicious  were  preg 
nant  with  the  deepest  danger. 

Even  where  he  had  most  warily  calculated  his  chances,  and 
chosen  his  measures  with  the  deepest  precaution,  selecting  the 
full  of  the  moon  for  the  period  of  his  escape,  and  choosing  the 
route  in  which  he  had  anticipated  the  least  danger  of  inter 
ruption,  he  had  erred  the  most  signally. 

For  it  had  so  fallen  out  that  Sir  Foulke  D'Oilly,  having 
appointed,  this  very  day  for  a  grand  hunting  match  in  his 
wood!  of  Fenton,  had  issued  orders  to  a  strong  party  of 
his  vassals,  under  the  leading  of  Black  Hugonet,  his  senes 
chal,  and  his  brother,  Ealph  Wetheral,  the  bailiff,  to  come  up 
from  Waltheofstow  by  daybreak,  and  rendezvous  at '  a  station 
in  the  forest  not  a  league  distant  from  the  spot  in  which  Ead- 
wulf  had  so  unhappily  chosen  to  conceal  himself. 

At  the  very  moment  in  which  the  serf  had  launched  his 
fatal  bolt  against  the  deer,  the  bailiff,  Ralph  Wetheral,  who 
was,  by  virtue  of  his  office,  better  acquainted  with  his  person 
than  any  others  of  the  household,  was  within  a  half  a  mile 
of  his  lair,  engaged  in  tracking  up  the  slot  of  the  very  animal 
which  he  was  rejoicing  to  have  slain,  by  aid  of  a  mute  lymer, 


182  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

or  slow-hound,  of  an  especial  breed,  kept  and  trained  for  the 
purpose ;  and  in  furtherance  of  his  pursuit,  had  dismounted 
from  his  horse,  and  was  following  the  dog  as  he  dragged  him 
onward,  tugging  at  the  leash  ;  while  ten  or  fifteen  of  his  com 
panions  were  scattered  through  the  woods  behind  him,  beat 
ing  them  carefully,  in  order  to  track  the  stags  or  wild  boars 
to  their  lairs,  before  the  arrival  of  their  lord. 

It  was,  perhaps,  half  an  hour  after  he  had  discharged  the 
shot,  when  he  was  alarmed  by  a  light  rustling  of  the  under 
wood  and  the  cracking  of  dry  sticks  under  a  cautious  footstep, 
and  at  first  surmised  that  a  second  beast  of  chase  was  follow 
ing  on  the  track  of  his  predecessor.  But,  in  a  moment,  he 
was  undeceived,  by  hearing  the  voice  of  a  man  whispering  a 
few  low  words  of  encouragement  to  a  dog,  and  at  once  the 
full  extent  of  his  danger  flashed  upon  him.  The  dog  was  evi 
dently  questing  the  animal  he  had  shot,  and,  within  an  in 
stant,  would  lead  his  master  to  the  spot.  Under  the  cruel 
enactment  of  the  Norman  forest-laws,  to  slay  a  deer  was  a 
higher  offense  than  to  kill  a  fellow-man ;  the  latter  crime 
being  in  many  cases  remissible  on  the  payment  of  a  fine,  while 
the  former  inevitably  brought  down  on  the  culprit  capital 
punishment,  often  enhanced  by  torture.  To  be  found  hidden, 
close  behind  a  warm  and  yet  bleeding  stag,  was  tantamount 
to  being  taken  red-handed  in  the  fact,  and  instant  death  was 
the  least  punishment  to  be  looked  for. 

Discovery  was  so  close  at  hand,  that  flight  itself  seemed 
impossible  ;  yet  in  immediate  flight  lay  the  sole  chance  of 
safety.  He  had  already  started  from  his  lair,  when  the  slow- 
hound,  coming  on  the  track  of  the  fresh  blood,  set  up  a  wild 
and  savage  yell,  broke  from  the  leash,  and  in  a  second  was 


THE     ESCAPE.  183 

standing  over  the  slaughtered  quarry,  tearing  away  with  his 
fangs  and  claws  the  bushes  which  covered  the  carcass. 

At  the  same  moment,  the  branches  were  parted,  and  the 
bailiff  of  -Waltheofstow  stood  before  the  culprit,  carrying  an 
unbended  long-bow  in  his  hand,  and  having  a  score  of  cloth- 
yard  arrows  at  his  belt,  a  short  anlace  at  his  side,  and  his  bugle 
slung  about  his  neck. 

The  recognition  on  each  side  was  immediate,  and  the  Nor 
man  advanced  fearlessly  to  seize  the  fugitive,  raising  his  bugle 
to  his  lips,  as  he  came  on,  to  summon  succor.  But  Eadwulf, 
who  had  already  laid  a  quarrel  in  the  groove  of  the  cross 
bow,  with  some  indefinite  idea  of  shooting  the  dog  before 
the  man  should  enter  upon  the  scene,  raised  the  weapon 
quickly  to  his  shoulder,  and,  taking  rapid  aim,  discharged  it 
full  at  the  breast  of  the  bold  intruder. 

The  heavy  missile  took  effect,  just  as  it  was  aimed,  piercing 
the  cavity  of  the  man's  heart,  that  he  sprang  a  foot  or  better 
up  into  the  air,  and  fell  slain  outright  upon  the  body  of  the 
deer,  which  his  dog  had  discovered,  his  spirit  passing  away 
without  a  struggle  or  a  convulsion. 

The  dog  .uttered  a  long,  melancholy,  wailing  howl,  stooped 
to  snuff  at  and  lick  the  face  of  its  murdered  master,  and  then, 
as  Eadwulf  was  drawing  forth  a  third  quarrel,  before  he  could 
bend  the  arbalast  again,  or  fit  the  missile  to  the  string,  fled 
howling  into  the  wood  whence  he  had  come,  as  if  he  foresaw 
his  purpose. 

"  A  curse  upon  the  yelling  cur ;  he  will  bring  the  hue- 
and-cry  down  on  me  in  no  time.  There  is  nothing  but  a  run 
for  it,  and  but  a  poor  chance  at  that." 

And,  with  the  words,  he  dashed  away  toward  the  north- 


184  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

west,  through  the  opener  parts  of  the  forest,  at  a  speed  which, 
could  he  have  maintained  it,  would  have  soon  carried  him  out 
of  the  reach  of  pursuit.  And  wonderfully  he  did  maintain 
it ;  for  at  the  end  of  the  second  hour  he  had  run  nearly  fifteen 
miles  from  the  scene  of  the  murder  ;  and  here,  on  the  brink 
of  a  small  brimful  river,  of  perhaps  forty  or  fifty  yards  in 
width,  flowing  tranquilly  but  rapidly  through  .the  green 
woods,  in  a  course  not  very  much  from  the  direction  which 
he  desired  to  follow,  he  cast  himself  down  on  the  turf,  and 
lay  panting  heavily  for  some  minutes  on  the  sward,  until  he 
had  in  some  degree  recovered  his  breath,  when  he  bathed  his 
face  in  the  cool  water,  drank  a  few  swallows,  and  then  cross 
ing  the  stream  by  some  large  stepping-stones  which  lay  here 
in  a  shallow  spot,  continued  his  flight  with  singular  speed 
and  endurance. 

He  had  not,  however,  fled  above  a  hundred  or  two  of  yards 
beyond  the  water,  when  he  heard,  at  the  distance  of  about 
three  miles  behind  him,  the  sound  he  most  dreaded  to  hear 
the  deep  bay  of  bloodhounds.  Beyond  doubt,  they  were  on 
his  track ;  an<l  how  was  he  to  shun  their  indomitable  fury  ? 

He  was  a  man  of  some  resource  and  skill  in  woodcraft, 
although  rude  and  barbarous  in  other  matters ;  and,  in  des 
perate  emergencies,  men  think  rapidly,  and  act  on  the  first 
thought. 

The  second  tone  of  the  dogs  had  scarcely  reached  his  ear, 
before  he  was  rushing  backward,  as  nearly  as  possible  in  his 
own  tracks,  to  the  river,  into  which,  from  the  first  stepping- 
stone,  he  leaped  head-foremost,  and  swam  vigorously  and 
lightly  down  the  current,  which  bore  him  bravely  on  his  way. 
The  stream  was  swift  and  strong  ;  and  its  banks,  clothed  with 


THE     ESCAPE.  185 

thick  underwood,  concealed  his  movements  from  the  eyes  of 
any  one  on  either  margin ;  and  he  had  floated  down  consider 
ably  more  than  a  mile,  before  he  heard  the  bloodhounds  come 
up  in  full  cry  to  the  spot  where  he  had  passed  the  water,  and 
cross  over  it,  cheered  by  the  shouts  and  bugle-blasts  of  the 
man-hunters. 

Then  their  deep  clamor  ceased  at  once,  where  he  had 
turned  on  his  back  track,  and  he  knew  they  were  at  fault,  and 
perceived  that  the  men,  by  their  vociferations  and  bugle-notes, 
were  casting  them  to  and  fro  in  all  directions,  to  recover  his 
scent. 

Still  he  swam  rapidly  onward,  and  had  interposed  nearly 
another  mile  between  himself  and  his  pursuers,  when  he 
heard,  by  their  shouts  coming  down  either  bank,  that  they 
had  divined  the  stratagem  to  which  he  had  had  recourse,  and 
were  trailing  him  down  the  margins,  secure  of  striking  his 
track  again,  wherever  he  should  leave  the  river. 

He  was  again  becoming  very  anxious,  when  a  singular  ac 
cident  gave  him  another  chance  of  safety.  A  wood-pigeon, 
flapping  its  wings  violently  as  it  took  flight,  attracted  his  at 
tention  to  the  tree  from  which  it  took  wing.  It  was  a  huge 
oak,  overhanging  the  stream,  into  which  one  of  its  branches 
actually  dipped,  sound  and  entire  below,  but  with  a  large  hol 
low  at  about  twenty  feet  from  the  ground,  which,  as  he  easily 
divined,  extended  downward  to  the  level  of  the  soil.  JSTo 
sooner  seen,  than  he  had  seized  the  pendulous  branch,  swung 
himself  up  by  it,  through  a  prodigious  exertion,  and,  spring 
ing  with  mad  haste  from  bough  to  bough,  reached  the  open 
ing  in  the  decayed  trunk.  It  was  a  grim,  dark  abyss,  and, 
should  he  enter  it,  he  saw  not  how  he  should  ever  make  his 


186  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

exit.  But  a  nearer  shout,  and  the  sounds  of  galloping  horse 
men,  deci4ed  him.  He  entered  it  foot-foremost,  hung  by  his 
hands  for  a  moment  to  the  orifice,  in  hesitation,  and  then, 
relaxing  his  hold,  dropped  sheer  down  through  the  rotten 
wood,  and  spiders'-webs,  and  unhealthy  funguses,  to  the  bot 
tom  of  the  tunnel-shaped  hollow.  Aroused  from  their  diurnal 
dreams  by  the  crash  of  his  descent,  two  great  brown-owls 
rushed  out  of  the  summit  of  the  tree,  and  swooped  down 
over  the  heads  of  the  men-at-arms,  who  just  at  the  instant 
passed  under  the  branches,  jingling  in  their  panoply,  and 
effectually  prevented  any  suspicion  from  attaching  to  the  hid 
ing-place. 

For  the  moment  he  was  safe  ;  and  there  he  stood,  in  almost 
total  darkness,  shivering  with  wet  and  cold,  amid  noisome 
smells  and  damp  exhalations,  listening  to  the  shouts  of  his 
enemies,  as  they  rode  to  and  fro,  until  they  were  lost  in  the 
distance. 


CHAPTER    XVII. 


THE     PURSUIT. 


Now  tell  me  thy  name,  good  fellow,  said  he, 

Under  the  leaves  of  lyne. 
Nay,  by  my  faith,  quoth  bold  Eobin, 

Till  thou  have  told  me  thine." 

ROBIN  HOOD  AND  GUY  OF  GISBOENE. 


UNTIL  the  last  glimmer  of  daylight  had  faded  out  in  the 
west,  and  total  darkness  had  prevailed  for  several  hours 
through  the  forest,  Eadwulf  remained  a  prisoner  in  his  hol 
low  trunk,  unable  to  discover  the  whereabout  of  his  enemies, 
yet  well-assured  that  they  had  not  returned,  but  had  taken 
up  some  bivouac  for  the  night,  not  very  far  in  advance  of  his 
hiding-place,  with  the  intention  of  again  seeking  for  his  trail 
on  the  morrow,  when  they  judged  that  he  would  have  once 
more  taken  the  road.  But  as  soon  as,  looking  up  the  chim 
ney-like  aperture  of  his  hiding-place,  he  discovered  the  foliage 
silvered  by  the  moonbeams,  he  scaled  the  inside  of  the  trunk, 
not  without  some  difficulty,  working  his  way  upward  with  his 
back  and  knees,  after  the  fashion  of  a  modern  chimney-sweep, 
and,  emerging  into  the  open  air,  drew  a  long  breath,  and 
again  lowered  himself  as  he  had  ascended,  by  the  drooping- 
branches,  and  once  more  entered  the  channel  of  the  stream. 


188  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

The  rivulet  was  in  this  place  shallow,  with  a  hard  bottom,  the 
current  which  was  swift  and  noisy,  scarce  rising  to  his  knee,  so 
that  he  waded  down  it  without  much  difficulty,  and  at  a 
tolerable  speed. 

After  he  had  proceeded  in  this  manner  about  two  miles,  he 
discovered  a  red-light  in  an  open  glade  of  the  forest,  at  a  short 
distance  ahead,  on  the  left  bank  of  the  river  ;  and,  as  he  came 
abreast  of  it,  readily  discovered  his  enemies,  with  the  blood 
hounds  in  their  leashes,  sitting  or  lying  around  a  fire  which 
they  had  kindled,  ready,  it  was  evident,  to  resume  the  search 
with  the  earliest  dawn.  This  he  was  enabled  to  discern  with 
out  quitting  the  bed  of  the  stream,  whose  brawling  ripples 
drowned  the  sound  of  his  footsteps ;  and  as  the  water  deep 
ened  immediately  ahead  of  him,  he  again  plunged  noiselessly, 
and  swam  forward  at  least  two  miles  farther ;  when,  calculat 
ing  that  he  had  given  them  a  task  of  two  or  three  hours  at 
least  before  they  could  succeed  in  finding  where  he  had  quitted 
the  water-course,  if  he  had  not  entirely  thrown  them  out,  he 
took  land  on  the  opposite  side  to  that,  on  which  they  were 
posted,  and  struck  at  his  best  pace  across  the  waste. 

It  might  have  been  ten  o'clock  in  the  evening  when  he  left 
the  oak-tree,  and,  though  weary  and  hungry,  he  plodded  for 
ward  at  a  steady  pace,  never  falling  short  of  four  miles  an 
hour,  and  often  greatly  exceeding  that  speed,  where  the 
ground  favored  his  running,  until  perhaps  an  hour  before  day 
break.  At  that  darkest  moment  of  the  night,  after  the  moon 
had  set,  he  paused  in  a  little  hollow  of  the  hills,  having 
placed,  as  he  calculated,  at  least  five-and-thirty  miles  between 
himself  and  his  hunters,  lighted  a  fire,  cooked  a  portion  of 
his  venison,  and  again,  just  as  the  skies  began  to  brighten,  got 


THE     PURSUIT.  189 

under  way,  supposing  that  at  about  this  hour  his  foes  would 
resume  their  search,  and  might  probably  in  a  couple  of  hours 
get  the  hounds  again  upon  his  scent.  Ere  that,  however,  he 
should  have  gained  another  ten  miles  on  them,  and  he  well 
knew  that  the  scent  would  be  so  cold  that  it  would  be  many 
hours  more  before  they  could  hunt  it  up,  if  they  should  suc 
ceed  in  doing  so  at  all. 

All  day,  until  the  sun  was  high  at  noon,  he  strode  onward 
across  the  barren  heath  and  wild  moors  into  which  the  forest 
had  now  subsided,  when,  after  catching  from  a  hill-top  a  dis 
tant  view  of  a  town  and  castle  to  the  northward,  which  he 
rightly  judged  to  be  SMpton,  he  reached  an  immense  tract, 
seeming  almost  interminable,  of  green,  oozy  morasses,  cut  up 
by  rivulets  and  streamlets,  and  often  intersected  by  dangerous 
bogs,  from  which  flowed  the  interlinked  tributaries  of  the 
Eyre,  the  Kibble,  and  the  Hodder.  Through  this  tract,  he 
was  well  aware,  neither  horse  could  follow  nor  bloodhound 
track  him ;  and  it  was  overgrown  in  so  many  places  with 
dense  brakes  of  willow  and  alder,  that  his  flight  could  not  be 
discovered  by  the  eye  from  any  of  the  surrounding  eminences. 
Into  this  dreary  region  he,  therefore,  plunged  joyously,  feeling 
half-secure,  and  purposely  selecting  the  deepest  and  wettest 
portions  of  the  bog,  and,  where  he  could  do  so  without  losing 
the  true  line  of  his  course,  wading  along  the  water-courses 
until  about  two  in  the  afternoon,  when  he  reached  an  elevated 
spot  or  island  in  the  marsh,  covered  with  thrifty  underwood, 
and  there,  having  fed  sparingly  on  the  provision  he  had 
cooked  on  the  last  evening,  made  himself  a  bed  in  the  heather, 
and  slept  undisturbed,  and  almost  lethargically,  until  the  moon 
was  up  in  the  skies.  Then  he  again  cooked  and  ate ;  but, 


190  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

before  resuming  his  journey,  he  climbed  a  small  ash-tree, 
which  overlooked  the  level  swamp,  and  thence  at  once  descried 
three  watch-fires,  blazing  brilliantly  at  three  several  spots  on 
the  circumference  of  the  morass,  one  almost  directly  ahead  of 
him,  and  nearly  at  the  spot  where  he  proposed  to  issue  on  to 
the  wild  heathery  moors  of  Holland  Forest,  on  the  verge  of  the 
counties  of  York  and  Lancaster,  and  within  fifty  miles  of  the 
provincial  capital  and  famous  sands  of  the  latter.  By  these 
fires  he  judged  easily  that  thus  far  they  had  traced  him,  and 
found  the  spot  where  he  had  entered  the  bogs,  the  circuit  of 
which  they  were  skirting,  in  order  once  more  to  lay  the 
death-hounds  on  his  track,  where  ever  he  should  again  strike 
the  firm  ground. 

In  one  hour  after  perceiving  the  position  of  his  pursuers,  he 
passed  out  of  the  marsh  at  about  a  mile  north  of  the  western 
most  watch-fire,  and,  in  order  as  much  as'  possible  to  baffle 
them,  crawled  for  a  couple  of  hundred  yards  up  a  shallow 
runnel  of  water,  which  drained  down  from  the  moorland  into 
the  miry  bottom  land. 

Once  more  he  had  secured  a  start  of  six  hours  over  the 
Normans,  but  with  this  disadvantage — that  they  would  have 
little  difficulty  in  finding  his  trail  on  the  morrow,  and  that  the 
country  which  he  had  to  traverse  was  so  open,  that  he  dared 
not  attempt  to  journey  over  it  by  daylight. 

Forward  he  fared,  therefore,  though  growing  very  weak  and 
weary,  for  he  was  foot-sore  and  exhausted,  and  chilled  with 
his  long  immersion  in  the  waters,  until  the  sun  had  been  over 
the  hills  for  about  two  hours,  much  longer  than  which  he 
dared  not  trust  himself  on  the  moors,  when  he  began  to  look 
about  eagerly  for  some  water-course  or  extensive  bog,  by  which 


THE     PURSUIT.  191 

he  might  again  hope  to  avoid  the  scent  of  the  unerring 
hounds. 

None  such  appeared,  however,  and  desperately  he  plodded 
onward,  almost  despairing  and  utterly  exhausted,  without  a 
hope  of  escaping  by  speed  of  foot,  and  seeing  no  longer  a 
hope  of  concealment.  Suddenly  when  the  sun  was  getting 
high,  and  he  began  to  expect,  at  every  moment,  the  sounds 
of  the  death-dogs  opening  behind  him,  he  crossed  the  brow 
of  a  round-topped  heathery  hill,  crested  with  crags  of  gray 
limestone,  and  from  its  brow,  at  some  thirty  miles  distance, 
faintly  discerned  the  glimmering  expanse  of  Morecambe  Bay, 
and  the  great  fells  of  Westmoreland  and  Cumberland  loom 
ing  up  like  blue  clouds  beyond  them. 

But  through  the  narrow  ghyll,  immediately  at  his  feet,  a 
brawling  stream  rushed  noisily  down  the  steep  gorge  from  the 
north,  southerly.  Headlong  he  leaped  down  to  it,  through 
the  tall  heather,  which  here  grew  rank,  and  overtopped  his 
head,  but  before  he  reached  it,  he  blundered  into  a  knot  of 
six  or  seven  men,  sleeping  on  a  bare  spot  of  greensward,  round 
the  extinct  ashes  of  a  fire,  and  the  carcass  of  a  deer,  which 
they  had  slain,  and  on  which  they  had  broken  their  fast. 

Startled  by  his  rapid  and  unceremonious  intrusion  into 
their  circle,  the  men  sprang  to  their  feet  with  the  speed  of 
light,  each  laying  a  cloth-yard  arrow  to  the  string  of  a  bended 
long-bow,  bidding  him  "  Stand,  or  die." 

For  a  moment,  he  thought  his  hour  was  come ;  but  the  next 
gfance  reassured  him,  and  he  saw  that  his  fortune  had  again 
brought  him  safety,  in  the  place  of  ruin. 

The  men  were  Saxons,  outlaws,  fugitives  from  the  Norman 
tyranny,  and  several  of  them,  like  himself,  serfs  escaped  from 


192  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

the  cruelty  of  their  masters.  One  of  them  had  joined  the 
party  so  recently,  that,  like  Eadwulf,  he  yet  wore  the  brazen 
collar  about  his  neck,  the  badge  of  servitude  and  easy  means 
of  detection,  of  which  he  had  not  yet  found  the  means  to  rid 
himself. 

A  few  words  sufficed  to  describe  his  piteous  flight,  and  to 
win  the  sympathy  and  a  promise  of  protection  from  the  out 
laws  ;  but  when  the  bloodhounds  were  named,  and  their  prob 
ably  close  proximity,  they  declared  with  one  voice  that  there 
was  not  a  moment  to  be  lost,  and  that  they  could  shelter  him 
without  a  possibility  of  danger. 

Without  farther  words,  one  by  one  they  entered  the  brook, 
scattering  into  it  as  if  they  were  about  to  pass  down  it  to  the 
southward,  but  the  moment  their  feet  were  in  the  water,  turn 
ing  upward  and  ascending  the  gorge,  which  grew  wilder  and 
steeper  as  they  proceeded,  until,  at  a  mile's  distance,  they 
came  to  a  great  circular  cove  of  rocks,  walled  in  by  crags  of 
three  hundred  feet  in  height,  with  the  little  stream  plunging 
down  it,  at  the  upward  extremity,  small  in  volume,  but  sprink 
ling  the  staircase  of  rocks,  down  which  it  foamed,  with  inces 
sant  sheets  of  spray. 

Scarcely  had  they  turned  the  projecting  shoulder  of  rock 
which  guarded  the  entrance  of  this  stern  circle,  before  the 
distant  bay  of  the  bloodhounds  came  heavily  down  the  air ; 
and,  at  the  same  instant,  the  armed  party  galloped  over  the 
brow  of  the  bare  moor  which  Eadwulf  had  passed  so  recently, 
cheering  the  fierce  dogs  to  fresh  exertions,  and  expecting,  so 
hotly  did  their  sagacious  guides  press  upon  the  recent  trail, 
to  see  the  fugitive  fairly  before  them. 

Much  to  their  wonder,  however,  though  the  country  lay 


THE     PURSUIT.  193 

before  their  eyes  perfectly  open,  in  a  long  stretch  of  five  or 
six  miles,  without  a  bush,  a  brake,  or  apparently  a  hollow 
which  could  conceal  a  man  if  he  were  in  motion,  he  was  not 
to  be  discovered  within  the  limits  of  the  horizon. 

"  By  St.  Paul !"  exclaimed  the  foremost  rider ;  shading  his 
eyes  with  his  hand,  to  screen  them  from  the  rays  of  the  level 
sun,  "he  can  not  have  gained  so  much  on  us  as  to  have 
got  already  beyond  the  range  of  eyeshot  He  must  have 
laid  up  in  the  heather.  At  all  events,  we  are  sure  of  him. 
Forward !  forward  !  Halloo !  hark,  forward !" 

Animated  by  his  cheering  cry,  the  dogs  dashed  onward 
furiously,  reached  the  brink  of  the  rill,  and  were  again 
at  fault.  "  Ha  !  he  is  at  his  old  tricks  again ;"  shouted  the 
leader,  who  was  no  other  than  Hugonet,  surnamed  the  Black, 
the  brother  of  the  murdered  bailiff.  "  But  it  shall  not  avail 
him.  We  will  beat  the  brook  on  both  banks,  up  and  down, 
to  its  source  and  to  its  mouth,  if  it  needs,  but  we  will  have 
him.  You,  "VVetherall,  follow  it  northerly  to  the  hills  with  six 
spears  and  three  couple  of  the  hounds.  I  will  ride  down  toward 
the  sea ;  I  fancy  that  will  prove  to  be  the  line  he  has  taken. 
If  they  hit  off  the  scent,  or  you  catch  a  view  of  him,  blow  me 
five  mots  upon  your  bugle,  thus,  sa-sa-wa-la-roa  !  and,  lo !  in 
good  time,  here  comes  Sir  Foulke." 

And  thundering  up  on  his  huge  Norman  war-horse,  curs 
ing  furiously  when  he  perceived  that  the  hounds  were  at 
fault,  came  that  formidable  baron ;  for  his  enormous  weight 
had  kept  him  far  in  the  rear  of  his  lighter-armed,  and  less 
ponderous  vassals.  His  presence  stimulated  them  to  fresh  ex 
ertions,  but  all  exertions  were  in  vain. 

Evening  fell  on  the  wide  purple  moorlands,  and  they  had 
9 


194  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

found  no  track  of  him  they  sought.  Wetherall,  after  making 
a  long  sweep  around  the  cove  and  the  waterfall,  and  tracing 
back  the  rill  to  its  source,  in  a  mossy  cairn  among  the  hills, 
at  some  five  miles'  distance,  descended  it  again  and  rejoined 
the  party,  with  the  positive  assurance  that  the  serf  had  not 
gone  in  that  direction,  for  that  the  hounds  had  beaten  both 
banks  the  whole  way  to  the  spring-head,  and  that  he  had  not 
come  out  on  either  side,  or  their  keen  scent  would  have  de 
tected  him. 

Meantime,  the  other  party  had  pursued  the  windings 
of  the  stream  downward,  with  the  rest  of  the  pack,  for 
more  than  ten  miles,  at  full  gallop,  until  they  were  convinced 
that  had  he  gone  in  that  direction,  they  must  long  ere  this 
have  overtaken  him.  They  were  already  returning,  when 
they  were  met  by  Wetherall,  the  bearer  of  no  more  favorable 
tidings. 

Sorely  perplexed  how  their  victim  should  have  thus  van 
ished  from  them,  in  the  midst  of  a  bare  open  moor,  as  if  he 
had  been  swallowed  up  by  the  earth,  aut  tenues  evasit  in 
auras,  and  half  suspecting  witchcraft,  or  magic  agency,  they 
lighted  fires,  and  encamped  on  the  spot  where  they  had  lost 
his  track,  intending  to  resume  the  research  on  the  morrow, 
and,  at  last,  if  the  latest  effort  should  fail  of  recovering 
the  scent,  to  scatter  over  the  moors,  in  small  parties  or 
troops,  and  beat  them  toward  the  Lancaster  sands,  by  which 
they  were  well-assured,  he  meditated  his  escape. 

In  the  interval,  the  band  of  outlaws  quickening  their  pace 
as  they  heard  the  cry  of  the  bloodhounds  freshening  behind 
them,  arrived  at  the  basin,  into  which  fell  the  scattered 
rain  of  the  mimic  cataract,  taking  especial  care  to  set  no  foot 


TUB     PURSUIT.  195 

on  the  moss  or  sand,  by  the  brink,  which  should  betray 
them  to  the  instinct  of  the  ravening  hounds. 

"Up  with  thee,  Wolfric,"  cried* one  of  the  men  to  one  who 
seemed  the  chief.  "  Up  with  thee !  There  is  no  time  to  lose. 
We  must  swear  him  when  we  have  entered  the  cave.  For 
ward  comrade;  this  way  lies  your  safety."  And,  with  the 
words,  he  pointed  up  the  slippery  chasm  of  the  waterfall. 

Up  this  perilous  ladder,  one  by  one,  where  to  an  unprac- 
ticed  eye  no  ascent  appeared  possible,  the  outlaws  straggled 
painfully  but  in  safety,  the  spray  effacing  every  track  of  their 
footsteps,  and  the  water  carrying  off  every  trace  of  the  scent 
where  they  had  passed,  until  they  reached  the  topmost  land 
ing-place.  There  the  stream  was  projected  in  an  arch  from 
the  rock,  which  jutted  out  in  a  bold  table  ;  and  there,  stoop 
ing  under  the  foamy  sheet,  the  leader  entered  a  low  cavern, 
with  a  mouth  scarce  exceeding  that  of  a  fox  earth,  but  ex 
panding  within  into  a  large  and  roomy  apartment,  where  they 
ate  and  caroused  and  slept  at  their  ease,  during  the  whole  day 
and  all  the  succeeding  night ;  for  the  robbers  insisted  that  no 
foot  must  be  set  without  their  cavern  by  the  fugitive,  until 
they  should  have  ascertained  by  their  spies  that  the  Normans 
had  quitted  their  neighborhood.  This  they  did  not  until  late 
in  the  following  day,  when  they  divided  themselves  into  three 
parties,  and  struck  off  northwesterly  toward  the  upper  sands 
at  the  head  of  the  bay,  for  which  they  had  evidently  con 
cluded  that  Eadwulf  was  making,  after  they  had  exhausted 
every  effort  of  ingenuity  to  discover  the  means  of  his  inex 
plicable  disappearance,  on  the  verge  of  that  tiny  rivulet,  run 
ning  among  open  moors  on  the  bare  hill-sides. 

So  soon  as  they  were  certain  of  the  direction  which  the 


196  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

enemy  had  taken,  and  of  the  fact  that  they  had  abandoned 
the  farther  use  of  the  bloodhounds,  as  unprofitable,  the  whole 
party  struck  due  westerly  across  the  hills,  on  a  right  line  for 
Lancaster,  guiding  their  companion  with  unerring  skill  across 
some  twenty  miles  of  partially-cultivated  country,  to  the  upper 
end  of  the  estuary  of  the  Lon,  about  one  mile  north  of  the 
city,  which  dreary  water  they  reached  in  the  gloaming  twilight. 
Here  a  skiff  was  produced  from  its  concealment  in  the  rushes, 
and  he  was  ferried  over  the  frith,  as  a  last  act  of  kindness,  by 
his  entertainers,  who,  directing  him  on  his  way  to  the  sands, 
the  roar  of  which  might  be  heard  already  in  the  distance,  re 
treated  with  all  speed  to  their  hill  fastnesses,  from  which  they 
felt  it  would  be  most  unsafe  for  them  to  be  found  far  distant 
by  the  morning  light. 

The  distance  did  not  much  exceed  four  miles  ;  but,  before 
he  arrived  at  the  end,  Eadwulf  met  the  greatest  alarm  which 
had  yet  befallen  him  ;  for,  just  as  it  was  growing  too  dark  to 
distinguish  objects  clearly,  a  horseman  overtook  him,  or  rather 
crossed  him  from  the  northward,  riding  so  noiselessly  over  the 
sands,  that  he  was  upon  him  before  he  heard  the  sound  of  his 
tread. 

Though  escape  was  impossible,  had  it  been  a  foe,  he  started 
instinctively  to  fly,  when  a  voice  hailed  him  friendly  in  the  fa 
miliar  Saxon  tongue. 

"  Ho  !  brother  Saxon,  this  is  thou,  then,  is  it  ?"  • 

"  I  know  not  who  thou  art,"  replied  Eadwulf,  "  nor  thou 
me,  I  '11  be  sworn." 

"  Ay !  but  I  do,  though,  bravely.  Thou  art  the  Saxon 
with  the  price  of  blood  on  thy  head,  whom  the  Normans  have 
chased  these  three  days,  from  beyond  Rotherham.  They  lie 


THE     PURSUIT.  197 

five  miles  hence  on  the  hither  side  the  Lon,  and  inquired  after 
thee  at  twilight.  But  fear  not  for  me.  Only  cross  the  sands 
early ;  the  tide  will  answer  with  the  first  gray  glimmer  ;  and 
thou  art  safe  in  Westmoreland.  And  so  God  speed  thee, 
brother." 

A  mile  or  two  farther  brought  him  to  the  verge  of  the  wet 
sands,  and  there  in  the  last  brushwood  he  laid  him  down,  al 
most  too  weary  to  be  anxious  for  the  morrow. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 


TH  E     S  A  KD  S. 


Splendor  in  heaven,  and  horror  on  the  main! 
Bunshine  and  storm  at  once — a  troubled  day; 
Clouds  roll  in  brightness,  and  descend  in  rain. 
Now  the  waves  rush  into  the  rocky  bay, 
Shaking  the  eternal  barriers  of  the  land ; 
And  ocean's  face  is  like  a  battle-plain, 
Where  giant  demons  combat  hand  to  hand. 

EBEXEZEE  ELLIOTT. 


IT  was  a  wild  and  wicked  morning,  in  the  first  red  light  of 
which,  Eadwulf,  awakening  from  the  restless  and  uneasy  sleep 
into  which  he  had  last  night  fallen,  among  the  scattered 
brushwood  growing  on  the  seaward  slope  of  the  sand  hills  of 
Lancashire,  looked  across  the  wide  sands,  now  left  bare  by 
the  recess  of  the  tide,  stretching  away  to  the  bleak  coasts 
of  Westmoreland  and  Cumberland,  and  the  huge  mountain 
ridges,  which  might  be  seen  indistinctly  looming  up  blue  and 
massive  in  the  distance  inland,  distinguishable  from  clouds 
only  by  the  hard  abruptness  of  their  outlines,  as  they  cut 
sharp  and  clean  against  the  lurid  sky  of  the  horizon. 

Along  the  sea  line,  which  lay  grim  and  dark  -in  ominous 
repose,  the  heaven's  glared  for  a  span's  breadth,  as  it  appeared 
to  the  eye,  with  a  wild  brassy  light,  above  which  brooded 
a  solid  belt  of  purple  cloud,  deepening  into  black  as  it  rose 


THE    SANDS.  199 

upward,  and  having  a  distinct,  solid-looking  edge,  scolloped, 
as  it  were,  into  huge  rounded  masses,  as  material  as  if  they 
had  been  earthy  hills,  instead  of  mere  piles  of  accumulated 
vapor. 

These  volumed  masses  lay  motionless,  as  yet,  in  the  brood 
ing  calm ;  but,  all  upward  to  the  zenith,  the  sky  was  covered 
with  tortured  and  distracted  wrack-wreaths,  some  black  as 
night,  some  just  touched  by  the  sun,  which  was  arising 
unseen  by  mortal  eyes  behind  the  cloud-banks  which  mus 
tered  so  thick  to  the  eastward,  and  some  glowing  with  a  fiery 
crimson  gleam,  as  if  they  issued  from  the  mouth  of  a  raging 
furnance. 

.  Every  thing  was  ominous  of  a  storm,  but  every  thing  as 
yet  was  calm,  tranquil,  and  peaceful.  In  the  very  quiet, 
however,  there  was  something  awful,  something  that  seemed 
to  whisper  of  coming  horror.  The  wide  sands  lay  gray  and 
leaden  at  the  feet  of  the  observer,  reflecting  the  lowering 
clouds  which  overhung  them,  except  where  the  brassy  glare 
of  the  horizon  tinged  their  extreme  verge  with  an  angry 
rust-colored  hue,  that  seemed  to  partake  the  nature  of  shadow 
rather  than  of  light. 

The  face  of  the  Saxon  fell  as  he  gazed  over  the  fearful 
waste,  beyond  which  lay  his  last  hope  of  safety ;  for,  though 
he  had  never  before  seen  those  treacherous  sands,  he  had 
learned  much  of  their  nature,  especially  from  the  outlaws, 
with  whom  he  found  his  last  shelter ;  and  he  knew,  that  to 
cross  them  certainly  and  in  safety,  the  passenger  on  foot 
should  set  out  with  the  receding  tide,  so  as  to  reach  the  mid 
labyrinth  of  oozy  channels  and  half-treacherous  sand  banks, 
through  which  the  scanty  and  divided  rivers  of  the  fair  lake- 


200  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

land  found  their  way  oceanward,  when  the  water  was  at  its 
lowest  ebb. 

Instead  of  this,  however,  so  heavily  had  he  slept  toward 
morning,  the  utter  weariness  of  his  limbs  and  exhaustion  of 
his  body  having  completely %  conquered  the  watchfulness  of 
his  anxious  mind,  that  the  tide  had  so  long  run  out,  leaving 
the  sands  toward  the  shore,  especially  at  this  upper  end  of 
the  bay,  bare  and  hard  as  a  beaten  road,  that  it  might  well 
be  doubted  whether  it  had  not  already  turned,  and  might 
not  be  looked  for,  ere  he  could  reach  the  mid-channel,  pour 
ing  in,  unbroken,  as  it  is  wont  to  do  in  calm  weather, 
over  those  boundless  flats,  with  a  speed  exceeding  that  of 
horses. 

There  was  no  time  for  delay,  however ;  for,  from  the  report 
of  the  horseman  who  had  overtaken  him  just  before  twilight, 
he  could  not  doubt  that  his  pursuers  had  not  halted  for  the 
night  farther  than  five  or  six  miles  in  his  rear ;  so  that  their 
arrival  might  be  looked  for  at  any  moment,  on  any  one  of  the 
headlands  along  the  shore,  whence  they  would  have  no  diffi 
culty  in  discerning  him  at  several  miles  distance,  while  travel 
ing  over  the  light-colored  surface  of  the  sands. 

Onward,  therefore,  he  hastened,  as  fast  as  his  weary  limbs 
could  carry  him,  hardly  conscious  whether  he  was  flying 
from  the  greater  danger,  or  toward  it.  He  had  a  strong  sus 
picion  that  the  flood  would  be  upon  him  ere  he  should  reach 
the  channel  of  Kent ;  and  that  he  should  find  it  an  unford- 
able  river,  girdled  by  pathless  quicksands.  He  knew,  however, 
that  be  his  chances  of  escape  what  they  might  by  persisting 
onward,  his  death  was  as  certain,  by  strange  tortures,  as  any 
thing  sublunary  can  be  called  certain,  should  the  Normans 


THE     SANDS.  201 

overtake  him,  red-handed  from  what  they  were  sure  to  regard 
as  recent  murder. 

On,  therefore,  he  fled  into  the  deceitful  waste.  At  first, 
the  sands  were  hard,  even,  and  solid,  yet  so  cool  and  damp 
under  the  worn  and  blistered  feet  of  the  wretched  fugitive, 
that  they  gave  him  an  immediate  sense  of  pleasurable  relief 
and  refreshment ;  and  for  three  or  four  miles  he  journeyed 
with  such  ease  and  rapidity  as,  compared  to  the  pain  and  las 
situde  with  which  on  the  past  days  he  had  stumbled  along, 
over  the  stony  roads,  and  across  the  broken  moors,  that  his 
heart  began  to  wax  more  cheerful,  and  his  hopes  of  escape 
warmed  into  something  tangible  and  real. 

Ere  long,  the  sun  rose  clear  above  the  eastern  fog-banks, 
and  all  seemed  still  fair  and  tranquil ;  the  sands,  dry  as  yet,  and 
firm,  smiled  golden-bright  under  the  increasing  warmth  and 
lustre  of  the  day,  and  the  little  rivulets,  by  which  the  fresh 
waters  oozed  to  the  deep,  glittered  like  silver  ribbons,  check 
ering  the  yellow  expanse. 

The  very  gulls  and  terns,  as  they  swooped  joyously  about 
his  head,  screaming  and  diving  in  the  sunny  air,  or  skimmed 
the  sands  in  pursuit  of  such  small  fry  as  might  have  been  left 
by  the  retreat  of  the  waters,  seemed,  by  their  activity  and 
happiness,  to  give  him  fresh  hope  and  strength  to  support  it. 

Occasionally  he  turned,  and  cast  a  hurried  glance  toward 
the  hills  he  had  just  left,  down  which  the  slant  rays  were 
streaming,  to  the  limit  where  the  green  grass  and  scattered 
shrubs  gave  way  to  the  bare  sea-sands ;  and,  as  from  each 
anxious  scrutiny  of  the  ground,  he  returned  to  his  forward  prog 
ress  without  discovering  any  signs  of  peril,  his  face  lighted 

up  anew,  and  he  advanced  with  a  freer  and  a  bolder  foot. 

ft* 


202  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

Still  so  weary  was  he,  and  so  worn  with  his  past  toils,  that 
he  made  but  little  real  progress;  and  when  he  had  been 
already  an  hour  on  the  sands,  he  had  accomplished  little  more 
than  three  miles  of  his  route.  The  sands,  from  the  point  at 
which  he  had  entered  them,  over  against  the  city  of  Lancas 
ter,  and  almost  due  west  from  that  city  to  the  nearest  acces 
sible  headland  of  the  opposite  shore,  were  not  less  than  nine 
miles  in  extent,  the  deepest  and  most  dangerous  parts  being 
those  nearest  to  the  farther  coast ;  but,  measured  to  the  place 
for  which  he  was  making,  a  considerable  distance  up  the 
estuary  of  the  Kent,  they  were  at  least  three  miles  longer. 

Two  or  Yhree  channels  the  fugitive  had  already  crossed,  and 
was  rejoiced  at  finding  the  sandy  bottom,  over  which  the 
fresh  water  flowed  some  two  or  three  inches  deep,  perfectly 
hard  and  beaten  ;  at  the  end  of  his  third  mile  he  reached  a 
broader  expanse  of  water,  where  the  sands  were  covered  to 
the  width  of  a  hundred  yards,  and  where  the  current,  if  that 
might  be  called  a  current  which  had  scarcely  any  perceptible 
motion  downward,  took  him  nearly  to  the  midleg.  The  foot 
hold  was,  moreover,  less  firm  than  before,  and  his  heavy 
brogues  sank  to  the  latchet  in  .the  yieding  soil.  This  was  the 
course  of  the  first  and  smaller  of  the  two  rivers  which  fall  into 
the  eastern  side  of  the  bay  from  the  county  of  Lancaster,  and 
at  about  two  miles  distant,  he  could  see  the  course  of  the 
second,  glittering  blue  among  the  low  sand-rollers  which 
divided  them. 

Here  he  paused,  undecided,  for  a  few  moments.  He  knew 
not  what  should  be  the  depth  of  the  water,  or  what  the 
nature  of  the  bottom ;  yet  already  he  almost  doubted,  almost 
feared,  that  the  time  was  passed,  and.  that  the  tide  had  turned. 


THE     8ANDS.  203 

He  looked  southward,  in  the  direction  of  the  sea,  which 
lay  broad  in  view,  though  at  many  leagues  distance ;  and,  for 
the  first  time,  it  struck  him  that  he  could  hear  the  moaning 
roll  of  its  ever  restless  waves.  He  fancied,  too,  that  the  sands 
looked  darker  and  more  plashy,  and  that  the  silvery  line 
which  marked  the  margin  of  the  waters,  where  the  sun 
glinted  on  their  quiet  ripples,  appeared  nearer  than  when  he 
had  descended  from  the  solid  strand. 

But,  on  the  other  hand,  the  sun-lighted  slopes  and  crags  of 
the  opposite  Lancastrian  shore,  near  Flockborough  Head,  and 
the  green  point  of  Westmoreland,  between  the  mouths  of 
Windermere  and  the  river  Kent,  lying  in  the  full  blaze  of 
the  unintercepted  morning,  looked  much  nearer  than  they 
really  were,  and  seemed  to  beckon  him  forward  with  a  smile 
of  welcome.  "Even  if  it  be  that  the  tide  is  turning,"  he 
thought,  "  I  have  yet  the  time  to  outstrip  it ;  and,  the  quicker 
it  mount,  the  wider  the  barrier  it  will  place  between  me  and 
my  enemies." 

Almost  as  these  ideas  passed  his  mind,  a  sound  came  to 
his  ears,  which  banished  in  a  moment  every  thought  of  the 
time,  the  tide,  the  peril  of  the  sands. 

It  was  the  keen  blast  of  a  bugle,  clearly  winded  on  the 
shore  from  which  he  had  just  departed,  but  at  a  point  a  little 
higher  up,  to  the  northward,  than  that  at  which  he  had  him 
self  left  it.  In  an  instant,  before  he  had  even  the  time  to 
turn  round  and  take  observation,  a  second  bugle,  yet  farther  to 
the  north,  took  up  the  cadence,  and,  as  that  died  away,  yet  a 
third,  so  faint,  and  so  far  to  the  northward,  that  it  seemed  like 
a  mere  echo  of  the  first,  replied. 

He  looked,  and,  clustered  on  the  brink  of  the  sands,  exam- 


204  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

ining  the  tracks  his  feet  had  left  on  the  moist  surface,  there 
stood  a  little  knot  of  three  or  four  horsemen,  one  of  whom  it 
was  easy  to  see,  by  the  glitter  of  his  mail-hood  and  hauberk, 
was  completely  armed.  Two  miles  higher  up,  likewise  on  the 
shore,  was  another  group,  that  which  had  replied  to  the  first 
bugle-note,  and  which  was  now  exchanging  signals  with  those 
in  the  foreground,  by  the  wafture  of  the  pennoncelles  which 
adorned  their  long  lances. 

There  was  now  no  longer  a  doubt.  His  pursuers  had  di 
vided  themselves  into  scattered  parties,  the  better  to  scour 
the  country,  two  of  which  had  already  discovered  him,  while 
there  was  evidently  a  third  in  communication  with  these  by 
bugle-blast,  not  yet  discernible  to  the  eye,  but  prepared  doubt 
less  to  strike  across  the  upper  portion  of  the  sands  near  the 
head  of  the  bay,  and  to  intercept  his  flight,  should  he  escape 
his  immediate  pursuers. 

Another  wild  and  prolonged  flourish  of  the  bugle,  the  very 
note  which  announces  to  the  jovial  hunters  that  the  beast  of 
chase  is  afoot,  rang  wildly  over  the  sands,  was  repeated  once 
and  again ;  and  then,  with  a  fierce  shout,  spurring  their  heavily- 
barbed  horses,  and  brandishing  their  long  lances,  the  man- 
hunters  dashed  forward  in  pursuit. 

The  first  party  rode  directly  on  the  track  of  the  fugitive, 
who  toiled  onward  in  full  view  as  he  ran,  terror  lending  wings 
to  his  speed,  almost  directly  northward,  with  his  long  shadow 
streaming  westward  over  the  dank  sands,  cutting  the  bright 
sunshine  with  a  blue,  rippling  wake.  The  second,  taking  the 
passage  higher  up,  rode  at  an  oblique  angle  to  the  first 
pursuers,  laying  up  to  the  point  of  Westmoreland,  in  order  to 
cut  off  the  fugitive ;  and,  in  a  few  moments  afterward,  yet 


THE     SANDS.  205 

another  group  might  be  seen  skirting  the  shore  line,  as  if  in 
tent  to  intercept  him  in  case  of  his  landing. 

The  soil  and  water,  spurned  from  the  feet  of  the  heavy 
chargers,  flew  high  into  the  air,  sparkling  and  plashing  in  the 
sunshine,  like  showers  of  metallic  dust.  It  was  a  fearful 
race — a  race  for  life  and  death,  with  odds,  as  it  would  seem, 
not  to  be  calculated,  against  the  panting  fugitive. 

At  first,  the  horses  careered  easily  over  the  surface,  not 
sinking  the  depth  of  their  iron-shoes  in  the  firm  substratum, 
while  the  man,  whether  from  fatigue  and  fear,  or  that  he  was 
in  worse  ground,  labored  and  slipped  and  stumbled  at  almost 
every  step.  The  horses  gained  upon  him  at  every  stride,  and 
the  riders  shouted  already  in  triumph.  It  seemed,  indeed,  as 
if  his  escape  was  hopeless.  The  cavalry  reached  the  first 
channel ;  it  had  widened  a  little,  yet  perceptibly,  since  Ead- 
wulf  had  crossed  it ;  but  the  horses  leaped  it,  or  dashed 
through  it,  without  an  effort. 

The  fugitive  was  now  nearly  in  the  middle  of  the  sands ; 
but  his  pursuers  had  already  crossed,  in  a  few  minutes,  one 
half  of  the  space  which  it  had  cost  him  a  painful  two  hours' 
toil  to  traverse ;  and,  with  at  least  five  miles  before  him  yet, 
what  hope  that  he  could  maintain  such  speed  as  to  run  in  the 
ratio  of  two  to  three  of  distance,  against  the  strength  and 
velocity  of  high-blooded  horses  ? 

But  he  had  now  reached  the  channel  of  the  Beetham- 
water,  and,  as  he  crossed  it,  he  stooped  to  ladle  up  a  few 
drops  in  the  hollow  of  his  hand,  to  bathe  his  parched  lips  and 
burning  brow.  He  saw  it  in  an  instant.  The  tide  had  turned, 
the  waters  were  spreading  wider  and  wider  sensibly,  they  were 
running  not  slowly  upward,  they  were  salt  to  the  taste  already. 


206  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

His  rescue  or  his  ruin,  the  flood-tide  was  upon  him ;  and, 
strange  to  say,  what  at  another  time  would  have  aroused  his 
wildest  terror,  now  wakened  a  slight  hope  of  safety. 

If  he  could  yet  reach,  yet  pass,  the  channel  of  the  Kent, 
which  lay,  widening  every  moment,  at  some  two  miles  farther 
yet  before  him,  he  might  still  escape  both  the  cruel  waters  and 
the  more  savage  man-hunters  ;  but  the  distance  was  long,  the 
fugitive  weak  with  fatigue,  weaker  yet  with  fear,  and  the  speed 
of  thorough-bred  horses  was  hard,  as  yet,  behind  him. 

He  paused  a  moment  to  watch,  as  the  first  party,  his  direct 
pursuers,  reached  the  broad  river-bed — they  crossed  it,  and 
that  seemingly  without  alarm  or  suspicion  of  danger,  though 
their  heavily-barbed  horses  sank  belly-deep  in  the  treacherous 
ford ;  but  having  stemmed  it,  as  they  charged  onward,  it 
was  clear  to  Eadwulf  that  the  horses  buried  their  hoofs 
deeper  at  every  stride;  soon  they  were  fetlock-deep  in  the 
heavy  sands. 

The  second  party  crossed  the  same  water-course  higher  up, 
and  with  less  trouble  ;  and  these  were  now  within  two  miles 
of  the  panting  slave,  shouting  their  war-cries,  and  spurring 
yet  more  furiously  onward,  having  lost,  if  they  had  ever  en 
tertained  any,  all  idea  of  danger,  in  the  furious  excitement  of 
the  chase,  and  taking  no  heed  of  the  tokens  of  imminent  and 
awful  peril ;  and  yet  those  tokens  were  now  sufficient  to  appal 
the  boldest. 

One  of  the  peculiarities  of  those  terrible  and  fatal  sands  is, 
that  the  first  approach  of  those  entering  tides,  which  come  on, 
not  with  the  ordinary  roll  and  thunder  of  billows  and  flash 
of  snowy  surf,  but  swift  and  silent  as  the  pestilence  that  flies 
by  night,  is  harbingered  by  no  outward  and  visible  sight  or 


THE     SANDS.  207 

sound,  but  by  the  gradual  and  at  first  imperceptible  conver 
sion  of  the  solid  sands  into  miry  and  ponderous  sludge,  into 
moving  quicksand,  into  actual  water. 

"When  the  sounds  and  sights  are  heard  and  seen,  it  is  too 
late  to  make  an  effort.  Death  is  at  hand,  inevitable. 

And  now  sights  and  sounds  were  both  clear,  palpable,  nigh 
at  hand.  The  dull  murmur  of  the  inrolling  volumes  might 
have  been  heard  by  the  ears  of  any,  so  that  they  were  not 
jangled  and  deafened  by  the  clangor  of  their  own  iron- 
harness ;  the  long  white  line  of  surf  might  have  been  seen 
by  the  eyes  of  any,  so  that  they  were  not  so  riveted  on  some 
other  object,  that  they  could  take  heed  of  naught  else  within 
the  range  of  their  vision. 

But  the  pursuers  heard,  saw  nothing — nothing,  unless  it 
were  the  beating  of  their  own  savage  hearts,  the  snorting  of 
their  laboring  chargers,  the  clanking  din  of  their  spurs  and 
scabbards,  and  the  jingle  of  their  chain-mail — unless  it  were 
the  wretched  fugitive,  panting  along,  with  his  tongue  literally 
hanging  out  of  his  parched  jaws,  and  his  eyes  bursting  from 
their  sockets,  like  those  of  an  over-driven  ox,  stumbling,  stag 
gering,  splashing  along,  often  falling,  through  the  mingled 
sand  and  water,  now  mid-leg  deep. 

The  party  which  had  taken  the  sands  at  the  most  northern 
point  had  now  so  far  over-reached  upon  the  fugitive,  that  he 
had  no  longer  a  chance  of  crossing  the  course  of  the  Kent 
in  advance  of  them.  If  he  persisted  in  his  course,  ten  min 
utes  more  would  have  placed  him  under  the  counters  of  their 
horses  and  the  points  of  their  lances.  The  other  body,  who 
had  followed  him  directly,  had  already  perceived  their  danger, 
had  pulled  up,  and  were  retracing  their  steps  slowly,  trying 


208  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

to  pick  their  way  through  the  diyest  ground,  and,  coasting 
up  and  down  the  side  of  the  Beetham  water,  were  endeavor 
ing  to  find  a  ford  passable  for  their  heavy  horses.  Lower 
down  the  bay,  by  a  mile  or  two,  they  were  the  first  to  be 
overtaken,  the  sands  were  already  all  afloat,  all  treacherous 
ooze,  around  them ;  the  banks,  diy  places  there  were  no 
longer  any,  were  not  to  be  distinguished  from  the  channels 
of  the  rivers. 

Suddenly,  seeing  himself  cut  off",  blinded  by  his  immediate 
terrors,  and  thinking  only  to  avoid  the  more  instant  peril, 
Eadwulf  turned  southward — turned  toward  the  billows,  which 
were  now  coming  in,  six  feet  abreast,  not  two  miles  below 
him,  tossing  their  foamy  crests  like  the  mane  of  the  pale- 
horse  of  the  Apocalypse,  with  a  sound  deeper  and  more  appal 
ling  than  the  roar  of  the  fiercest  thunder.  He  saw  the  hope 
lessness  of  his  position ;  and,  at  the  same  moment,  the  first 
horror  of  their  situation  dawned  on  the  souls  of  his  savage 
pursuers. 

In  that  one  glance,  all  was  revealed  to  them ;  every  thought, 
eveiy  incident,  every  action  of  their  past  lives,  flashed  before 
the  eyes  of  their  mind,  as  if  reflected  in  a  mirror ;  and  then 
all  was  blank. 

Every  rein  was  drawn  simultaneously,  every  horse  halted 
where  he  stood,  almost  belly-deep  in  the  sands,  snorting  and 
panting,  blown  and  dead-beat  by  that  fruitless  gallop ;  and 
now  the  soil,  every  where  beneath  them  and  about  them,  was 
melting  away  into  briny  ooze,  with  slimy  worms  and  small 
eels  and  lampreys  wriggling  obscenely,  where  a  little  while 
before,  the  heaviest  war-horse  might  have  pawed  long  and 
deep  without  finding  water ;  and  the  waves  were  gaining  on 


THE     SANDS.  209 

them,  with  more  than  the  speed  of  charging  cavalry,  and  the 
nearest  shore  was  five  miles  distant. 

Within  a  furlong,  on  a  solitary  black  stone,  which  might 
overtop  the  entering  flood  for  an  hour's  space  or  better,  lay 
Eadwulf,  the  serf.  Utterly  beaten,  unable  to  move  hand  or 
foot,  unable  even  to  raise  his  head,  or  look  the  coming  death 
in  the  face,  where  he  had  fallen,  there  he  lay. 

Two  minutes,  and  the  farthest  of  those  horsemen  might 
have  taken  him,  might  have  speared  him,  where  he  lay,  un 
resisting,  unbeseeching.  But  none  thought  of  him — none 
thought  of  any  thing  but  the  sea — the  sea. 

They  paused  for  an  instant  to  breathe  their  horses,  before 
turning  to  ride  that  desperate  race — but  in  that  instant  they 
saw  such  a  sight  as  chilled  their  very  blood.  The  other  party, 
which  had  now  retreated  before  the  tide  to  within  a  mile  of 
them  to  the  eastward,  had  now  determined,  as  it  seemed,  at 
all  risks,  to  force  their  way  back  through  the  channel  of  the 
Beetham  water,  and  entered  it  one  by  one,  in  single  file,  the 
unarmed  guide  leading,  and  the  mail-clad  rider  bringing  up 
the  rear.  Each  after  each,  lower  they  sank  and  lower,  their 
horses  struggling  and  rolling  in  the  surge.  Now  their  croupes, 
now  their  withers  disappeared  from  the  eyes  of  the  beholders ; 
now  the  necks  only  of  the  horses  and  the  bodies  of  the  riders 
were  visible  above  the  wash.  A  moment  of  suspense,  almost 
intolerable,  for  every  one  of  those  mute  gazers  felt  that  he 
was  looking  on  the  counterpart  and  perfect  picture  of  what 
must  in  a  few  minutes,  more  or  less,  be  his  own  fate  also ! 
A  moment,  and  the  guide's  horse  struggled  upward,  his 
withers  reappeared,  his  croupe — he  had  cleared  the  channel, 
he  was  safe.  A  light  page  followed  him,  with  the  like  sue- 


210  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

cess;  two  half-armed  troopers  followed;  already,  presaging 
safety,  a  shout  of  exultation  trembled  on  the  lips  of  the  spec 
tators,  when  the  mail-clad  rider  on  his  heavy  horse  reached 
the  mid-passage — reached  the  spot  where  his  horse  should 
have  gradually  emerged — then  in  an  instant,  in  the  twinkling 
of  an  eye,  before  one  could  breathe  a  sigh  or  syllable,  a  last 
"  God  save  him" — he  sank,  sheer  and  sudden,  as  if  the  bottom 
had  yawned  under  him,  and  without  an  effort,  a  cry,  a  strug 
gle,  was  sucked  under. 

lie  was  there — he  was  gone  ;  never  more  to  be  seen  above 
the  face  of  the  waters.  At  the  same  instant,  just  as  they 
uttered  one  wild  cry  of  horror  and  despair,  or  ere  they  could 
turn  their  horses'  heads  landward,  a  deep,  cold,  wet  wind 
breathed  upon  them  ;  a  gray  mist  swept  down  on  them,  out 
running  the  trampling  squadrons  of  the  foamy  waves  ;  a  fierce 
hail  storm  smote  them;  and,  in  an  instant,  every  thing — 
shores,  billows,  skies— evanished  from  them,  wrapped  in  utter 
gloom.  Then  they  dispersed,  each  struggling  through  the 
rapidly-mounting  waters  in  that  direction  which  he  fancied,  in 
his  blindness,  should  be  shoreward.  No  one  of  them  met 
other,  more,  in  this  world. 

Strange  it  is  to  tell,  but  truths  are  ofttimes  very  strange, 
stranger  than  fiction,  at  that  sharp,  awful  cry,  wrenched  by 
the  horrible  catastrophe  of  their  comrade  from  the  souls  of  his 
pursuers,  aroused  from  the  stupor  which  had  fallen  upon  him, 
between  the  excess  of  weariness  and  the  extremity  of  despair, 
Eadwulf  raised  his  head.  He  saw  the  white  surf  tossing  and 
breaking  furiously  in  the  distance ;  he  saw  the  long  line  of 
deep,  unbroken,  swelling  water,  which  had  not  been  driven 
up  from  the  sea,  but  had  gushed  and  welled  upward  through 


THE     SANDS.  211 

the  pores  of  the  saturated  sand,  rolling  in  five  feet  abreast,  far 
in  advance  of  the  white  rollers ;  swifter  than  either,  darker 
and  more  terrible,  he  saw  the  ink-black,  ragged  hail-storm, 
•a  mere  mist  on  the  waters'  surface — but,  above,  a  contorted 
pile  of  solid,  convoluted  clouds,  driving  in,  like  a  hurricane, 
before  the  breath  of  the  rushing  southeaster. 

But,  in  that  one  lightning  glance,  he  saw  also,  on  the  dark 
polished  surface  of  the  smooth  water,  in  advance  of  the  break 
ers,  under  the  storm-cloud,  a  long  black  object,  hurrying  down 
before  wind  and  tide,  with  speed  exceeding  that  of  the  fleetest 
race  horse,  right  upon  the  spot  where  he  sat,  despairing.  He 
recognized  it,  at  once,  for  one  of  the  leathern  coracles,  as  they 
were  called,  or  rude  fishing-boats  of  the  natives  of  those  wild 
and  stormy  shores  ;  the  rudest  perhaps,  but  at  the  same  time 
the  most  buoyant  and  seaworthy  of  boats.  She  was  empty, 
he  saw  that  at  a  glance,  and  rode  the  waves,  outstripping  tho 
breakers,  gallantly.  Could  he  reach  her,  he  might  yet  be 
saved. 

He  sat  erect  on  his  rock,  resolute,  with  every  nerve  quiv 
ering  with  intense  excitement,  with  every  faculty  braced, 
ready  for  the  last  exertion. 

The  cloud  fell  on  him  black  as  midnight ;  the  fierce  wind 
smote  his  elf-locks,  making  them  stream  and  shiver  in  its  cur 
rents  ;  the  cutting  hail  lashed  him  with  arrowy  keenness. 
Quickly  as  it  came,  it  passed  ;  and  a  gleam  of  troubled  sun 
shine  shimmered  through  a  rent  in  the  black  storm,  and 
glanced  like  a  hopeful  smile  upon  the  waters.  In  that  mo 
mentary  brilliance,  the  wretch  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  black 
boat,  floating  past  his  solitary  rock,  and  without  a"n  instant's 
hesitation,  rushing  waist  deep  into  the  frothy  eddies,  fought 


212  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

his  way,  he  never  well  knew  how,  through  surge  and  quick 
sand,  till  he  had  caught  her  by  the  gunwale.  Then,  spurning 
the  yielding  sands  with  a  tremendous  effort,  he  leaped,  or 
hurled  himself  rather,  into  her,  and  lay  for  a  breathing-space 
motionless,  and  stunned  by  the  very  perception  of  the  strange 
vicissitude  to  which  he  owed  his  safety. 

But  it  was  no  time  for  self-indulgence ;  and,  ignorant  as  he 
was,  semi-barbarous,  and  half-brutalized,  he  perceived  the  na 
ture  of  the  crisis.  The  oars  or  paddles  by  which  the  coracle 
was  impelled  were  lashed  by  thongs  to  her  row-locks,  and, 
getting  them  out  at  once,  Eadwulf  plied  them  vigorously, 
keeping  her  right  stern  before  the  entering  tide,  and  pulling 
with  all  his  might,  to  outstrip  the  combing  of  each  successive 
roller. 

For  a  short  space,  the  glimmer  in  the  air  continued ;  then 
the  mist  gathered  down  again,  and  all  was  gloom,  except  the 
white  caps  of  the  breakers,  tossing  and  shivering  in  the  twi 
light.  But  it  was  now  mist  only ;  the  wind  had  sunk,  and  the 
storm-cloud  been  driven  landward. 

And  now,  so  dexterously  had  the  serf  managed  his  little 
vessel,  that,  as  he  shot  away  from  each  combing  sea-cap,  the 
surges  had  swept  under  instead  of  over  him,  and  he  found  him 
self  riding  buoyantly  on  the  long,  gentle  swell,  while  the  surf, 
gradually  subsiding,  ran  up  the  sands,  murmuring  hoarsely  far 
before  him. 

Suddenly,  close  ahead  of  him,  not  as  it  seemed  ten  yards 
from  the  bow  of  the  boat,  there  arose  an  angry  clash  of  steel, 
a  loud  cry,  "  Jesu !  Jesu  Maria  !"  and  a  deep  groan  ;  and,  the 
next  instant,  the  body  of  a  riderless  horse,  with  its  head  half 
submerged,  panting  and  snorting  out  its  last  agonies,  was 


THE     SANDS.  213 

swept  so  close  to  his  vessel  that  he  could  have  touched  it  with 
the  oar.  One  other  minute,  and  a  light  air  was  felt  sensibly ; 
the  mist  began  to  lift  and  shiver ;  the  darkness  seemed  to  melt, 
and  to  be  penetrated  and  imbued  with  the  sunbeams,  till  it  re 
sembled  a  gauzy  screen  interposed  before  a  strong  light. 

Another  moment,  and  it  rose  bodily  from  the  water,  floated 
upward  into  the  skies,  and  left  all  below  laughing,  clear  in 
the  sunlight.  There  was  no  sand  now  to  be  seen,  save  a  nar 
row  yellow  stripe  on  the  edge  of  the  soft  verdant  points,  which 
stretched  out  from  the  shores  of  Westmoreland,  sparkling  in 
the  sun  and  glittering  in  the  rain-drops,  into  the  broad  bosom 
of  Morecambe  Bay,  which  was  now  filled  with  the  tide,  though 
it  had  not  as  yet  nearly  risen  to  its  highest  mark — but  here 
and  there,  at  intervals,  dark  spots  showed  in  the  expanse  of 
waters,  where  the  tops  of  the  highest  sand-banks  were  scarcely 
submerged  at  all,  on  which  the  gentle  eddies  rippled  and 
sparkled,  as  wavelet  after  wavelet  rolled  in  by  its  own  mount 
ing  impulse,  but  hastened  by  no  angry  gust  or  turbulent 
billow. 

On  one  of  these  sand-banks,  having  so  long  escaped,  Heaven 
knows  how,  quicksands  and  breakers,  and  having  made  his 
way  thus  far  -landward,  sat  a  tall,  powerful  man-at-arms, 
sheathed  from  head  to  heel  in  a  complete  panoply  of  chain 
mail.  His  horse  was  likewise  caparisoned  in  the  heaviest 
bardings — chamfront  and  poitrel,  steel  demi-pique  and  bard 
proper — nothing  was  wanting  of  the  heaviest  caparison  with 
which  charger  or  man  ever  rode  into  the  tilt-yard  or  melee. 

The  tide  was  already  above  the  horse's  belly,  and  the 
rider's  plated  shoes  and  mail  hose  were  below  the  surface. 
Deep  water  was  around  him  on  every  side,  the  nearest  shore 


214  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

a  mile  distant,  and  to  swim  fifty  yards,  much  less  a  mile, 
under  that  weight  of  steel,  was  impossible  ;  still  he  sat  there, 
waiting  his  doom,  silent  and  impassive. 

He  was  the  last  of  the  pursuers ;  he  alone  of  the  two 
parties,  who  but  three  short  hours  before  had  spurred  so 
fiercely  in  pursuit  of  the  wretched  slave,  had  escaped  the  fate 
of  Pharaoh  and  his  host,  when  the  Red  Sea  closed  above  them. 
He  alone  breathed  the  breath  of  life ;  and  he,  certain  of  death, 
awaited  it  with  that  calm  composure,  which  comes  to  the  full 
as  much  of  artificial  training  as  of  innate  valor. 

As  the  clouds  lifted,  this  solitary  man  saw,  at  once,  the 
boat  approaching,  and  saw  who  rowed  it — saw  rescue  close  at 
hand,  yet  at  the  same  time  saw  it  impossible.  His  face  had 
hardly  the  time  to  relax  into  one  gleam  of  hope,  before  it 
again  settled  down  into  the  iron  apathy  of  despair. 

The  coracle  swept  up  abreast  of  him,  then  paused,  as 
Eadwulf,  half  unconsciously,  rested  on  his  oars,  and  gazed 
into  the  despairing  and  blank  features  of  his  enemy.  It  was 
the  seneschal  of  Waltheofstow,  the  brother  of  the  man  whom 
he  had  slain  in  the  forest. 

Their  eyes  met,  they  recognized  each  other,  and  each  shud 
dered  at  the  recognition.  For  a  moment,  neither  spake ;  but, 
after  a  short,  bitter  pause,  it  was  th^e  rider  who  broke  silence. 

"  So,  it  is  thou,  Saxon  dog,  who  alone  hast  escaped  from 
this  destruction !" 

"  It  is  I,  man-hunter.  Where  are  thy  boasts  and  threats 
now  ?  Why  dost  not  ask  the  serf,  now,  for  life,  for  mercy  2" 

"  Because  thou  couldst  not  give  it,  if  thou  wouldst ;  and 
wouldst  not,  if  thou  couldst.  Go  thy  way,  go  thy  way ! 
We  shall  meet  one  day,  in  that  place  whither  our  deeds  will 


THE     SANDS  .  215 

carry  us.  Go  thy  way,  unless  tliou  wouldst  stay,  and  look 
how  a  Norman  dies.  I  fear  neither  death,  nor  thee.  Go  thy 
way,  and  the  fiend  go  with  thee." 

And,  with  the  word,  he  went  his  way,  coldly,  sternly, 
pitilessly,  and  in  silence ;  for  he  felt,  in  truth,  that  the  senes 
chal  had  spoken  truly,  that  he  could  not  save  him  if  he 
would,  unless  he  would  save  his  own  sworn  destroyer.  Sul 
lenly,  slowly,  he  rowed  onward,  reached  the  land ;  and  still, 
as  he  looked  back,  with  his  horse's  neck  and  his  armed  trunk 
eminent  above  the  level  waters,  glittering  in  his  bright  mail, 
sat  the  fearless  rider.  Wearied  and  utterly  exhausted,  both 
in  mind  and  body,  the  serf  gazed,  half-reirrorsefully,  at  the 
man  whom  he  had  so  mercilessly  abandoned  to  his  fate,  and 
who  bore  it  so  sternly,  awaiting  the  last  inevitable  moment 
with  more  than  a  stoic's  fortitude  and  pride.  For  a  moment 
he  hesitated  whether  he  should  pursue  his  journey;  but  an 
irresistible  fascination  compelled  him  to  sit  down  and  await 
the  end,  and  he  did  so. 

And  there  those  two  sat,  face  to  face,  at  a  mile's  distance, 
for  a  long  half  hour,  in  plain  view,  each  almost  fancying  that 
he  could  peruse  the  features,  almost  fancying  that  he  could 
read  the  thoughts  of  his  enemy — each  in  agony  of  soul,  and 
he,  perhaps,  in  the  greater  anguish  who  had  escaped,  as 
it  would  seem,  all  peril,  and  for  whom  death  seemed  to 
wait,  distant  and  unseen,  at  the  end  of  a  far  perspective. 

At  the  termination  of  half  an  hour,  there  was  a  motion,  a 
strife — the  water  had  reached  the  nostrils  of  the  charger. 
Ho  tossed  his  head  a  few  times,  angrily ;  then,  after  rearing 
once  or  twice,  with  his  rider  yet  erect  in  his  saddle,  subsided 
into  deep  water,  and  all  was  over. 


216  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

Eadwulf  crept  away  up  the  bank,  found  a  thick  dingle 
in  the  wood,  and,  coiling  himself  up  in  its  densest  spot,  slept, 
dreamless  and  unrepentant,  until  the  morrow's  sun  was  high 
in  heaven. 


CHAPTER   XIX. 


THE    SUPPLIANT. 


Brother,  bo  now  true  to  me, 
And  I  shall  bo  as  true  to  thee ; 
As  wise  God  me  speed. 

AMYS  AND  AMYLLION 


THE  year  had  by  this  time  worn  onward  to  the  last  days  of 
summer,  or  one  might  almost  say  to  the  earliest  days  of 
autumn,  and  the  lovely  scenery  of  the  lake  country  had  begun 
to  assume  its  most  beautiful  and  picturesque  coloring. 

For  in  the  early  summer  months  the  hues  of  the  whole 
region  are  too  generally  green,  without  any  variation  except 
that  produced  by  the  effect  of  sunshine  and  shadow.  The  sides 
of  the  turf-covered  mountains,  the  birch  and  oak  coppices  on 
their  lower  slopes,  the  deep  meadows,  at  their  basef  are  all 
overspread  with  the  richest  and  most  intense  verdure ;  even 
the  reflections  in  the  bosom  of  the  clear  lakes  preserve  the 
same  general  tints,  diversified  only  by  the  cerulean  blue 
caught  from  the  deep  overhanging  heavens,  and  the  not  dis 
similar  hue  of  the  craggy  summits  of  the  loftier  hilltops, 
where  the  slaty  character  of  the  rocks,  partly  impregnated 
with  iron,  partly  incrusted  with  gray  lichens,  "  overspread  in 
many  places,"  to  quote  the  words  of  a  fine  writer  and  trua 

10 


218  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

lover  of  nature,  "  the  steep  and  almost  precipitous  sides  of  the 
mountains,  with  an  intermixture  of  colors  like  the  compound 
hues  of  a  dove's  neck." 

"When,  in  the  heat  of  advancing  summer,"  he  proceeds 
thereafter,  "  the  fresh  green  tint  of  the  herbage  has  somewhat 
faded,  it  is  again  revived  by  the  appearance  of  the  fern  pro 
fusely  spread  every  where ;  and  upon  this  plant,  more  than 
upon  any  thing  else,  do  the  changes,  which  the  seasons  make 
in  the  coloring  of  the  mountains  depend.  About  the  first 
week  in  October,  the  rich  green,  which  prevailed  through  the 
whole  summer,  has  usually  passed  away.  The  brilliant  and 
various  colors  of  the  fern  are  then  in  harmony  with  the 
autumnal  woods ;  bright  yellow,  or  lemon  color,  at  the  base 
of  the  mountains,  melting  gradually,  through  orange,  to  a 
dark  russet  brown  toward  the  summits,  where  the  plant, 
being  more  exposed  to  the  weather,  is  in  a  more  advanced 
state  of  decay.  Neither  heath  nor  furze  are  generally  found 
upon  the  sides  of  the  mountains,  though  in  some  places  they 
are  richly  adorned  by  them.  We  may  add,  that  the  mount 
ains  are  of  height  sufficient  to  have  the  surface  toward  the 
summits  softened  by  distance,  and  to  imbibe  the  finest  aerial 
hues.  In  common  also  with  other  mountains,  their  apparent 
forms  and  colors  are  perpetually  changed  by  the  clouds  and 
vapors  which  float  round  them ;  the  effect  indeed  of  mist  or 
haze,  in  a  country  of  this  character,  is  like  that  of  magic.  I 
have  seen  six  or  seven  ridges  rising  above  each  other,  all 
created,  in  a  moment,  by  the  vapors  upon  the  side  of  a 
mountain,  which,  in  its  ordinary  appearance,  showed  not  a 
projecting  point  to  furnish  even  a  hint  for  such  an  operation. 

"  I  will  take  this  opportunity  of  observing,  that  they  who 


THE     SUPPLIANT.  219 

have  studied  the  appearances  of  nature  feel  that  the  supe 
riority,  in  point  of  visual  interest,  of  mountainous  over  other 
countiies,  is  more  strikingly  displayed  in  winter  than  in  sum 
mer.  This,  as  must  be  obvious,  is  partly  owing  to  the  forms 
of  the  mountains,  which,  of  course,  are  not  affected  by  the 
seasons,  but  also,  in  no  small  degree,  to  the  greater  variety 
that  exists  in  their  winter  than  their  summer  coloring.  This 
variety  is  such,  and  so  harmoniously  preserved,  that  it  leaves 
little  cause  of  regret  when  the  splendor  of  the  season  has 
passed  away.  The  oak  coppices,  upon  the  sides  of  the  mount 
ains,  retain  russet  leaves ;  the  birch  stands  conspicuous  with 
its  silver  stems  and  puce-colored  twigs  ;  the  hollies,  with  green 
leaves  and  scarlet  berries,  have  come  forth  into  view  from 
among  the  deciduous  trees,  whose  summer  foliage  had  con 
cealed  them ;  the  ivy  is  now  plentifully  apparent  upon  the 
stems  and  boughs  of  the  trees,  and  among  the  wooded  rocks. 
In  place  of  the  uniform  summer-green  of  the  herbage  and 
fern,  many  rich  colors  play  into  each  other  over  the  surface  of 
the  mountains ;  turf,  the  tints  of  which  are  interchangeably 
tawny-green,  olive,  and  brown,  beds  of  withered  fern  and  gray 
rocks  being  harmoniously  blended  together.  The  mosses  and 
lichens  are  never  so  flourishing  as  in  winter,  if  it  be  not  a 
season  of  frost ;  and  their  minute  beauties  prodigally  adorn  the 
foreground.  Wherever  we  turn,  we  find  these  productions  of 
nature,  to  which  winter  is  rather  favorable  than  unkindly, 
scattered  over  the  walls,  banks  of  earth,  rocks  and  stones,  and 
upon  the  trunks  of  trees,  with  the  intermixture  of  several 
species  of  small  fern,  now  green  and  fresh ;  and,  to  the 
observing  passenger,  their  forms  and  colors  are  a  source  of 
inexhaustible  admiration." — "W ORDSWORTH. 


220  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

Thus  far  have  I  quoted  the  accurate  and  simple  language 
of  the  great  Poet  of  the  Lakes,  since,  none  other  that  I  can 
choose  would  place  before  the  eyes  of  my  readers  so  vivid  a 
reality  of  the  scenery  of  that  loveliest  portion  of  picturesque 
England,  in  its  finest  aspect. 

It  was  not,  indeed,  quite  so  deep  in  the  season,  that  all  the 
changes  so  beautifully  depicted  above  had  yet  occurred,  when, 
late  in  a  clear  autumnal  evening,  Kenric  and  Edith  stood  to 
gether  in  the  porch  of  their  new  home,  gazing  across  the 
tranquil  bosom  of  the  little  mere,  and  down  the  pastoral  val 
ley  of  the  Kent,  yet  the  face  of  the  picture  was  close  to  that 
described  in  the  quotations.  The  trees,  in  the  level  ground 
and  in  the  lower  valleys,  had  not  lost  all  their  verdure,  though 
the  golden,  the  russet,  and  the  ruddy-red,  had  intermingled 
largely  with  the  green  ;  the  meadows,  by  the  water-edge,  had 
not  changed  a  tint,  a  shade  of  their  summer  glory,  but  all 
the  hill-sides  were  as  they  stand  painted  by  the  poet-pen  of 
the  child  of  Nature. 

The  sun  was  setting  far  away,  to  the  right  hand,  as  they 
gazed  down  the  long  dale  to  the  southward,  behind  the  mighty 
tops  of  Hawkshead  and  Blackcomb,  which  towered  against 
the  gorgeous  golden-sky,  flecked  with  a  thousand  glowing 
cloudlets,  orange  and  rosy-red,  and  glaring  crimson,  like  a 
huge  perpendicular  wall  of  dusky  purple  ;  with  the  long  basin 
of  Windermere,  visible  from  that  elevation  over  the  lower 
intervening  ridges,  lying  along  their  bases  as  it  seemed, 
though  in  truth  many  miles  distant,  a  sheet  of  beaten-gold. 
The  lower  hills,  to  the  west  of  Kentmere,  downward  to  Bow- 
ness,  whose  chapel-window  gleamed  like  fire  in  the  distance, 
were  shrouded  in  soft  purple  haze,  and  threw  long  blue  shad- 


THE     SUPPLIANT.  221 

ows  across  the  rich  vale,  broken  by  the  slant  golden  beams 
which  streamed  through  the  gaps  in  their  summits,  in  far- 
reaching  pencils  of  misty  light.  At  the  same  time,  the  little 
lake  of  Kentmere  lay  at  the  feet  of  the  spectators,  still,  clear, 
and  transparent  as  an  artificial  mirror,  giving  back  a  counter 
feit  presentment  of  every  thing  around  and  above  it,  only  less 
real  than  the  actual  reality;  while  toward  the  precipitous 
and  craggy  hills,  behind  them  and  on  their  left,  the  westering 
sun  sent  forth  such  floods  of  rosy  and  golden  light  as  illumin 
ated  all  their  projections  and  cavities,  bringing  them,  with  afl 
their  accidents  of  crag  or  coppice,  ivy-bush  or  silvery  birch- 
tree,  close  to  the  eye  of  the  beholder,  blended  with  an  inter 
mixture  of  solemn  shadows,  seen  distinctly  through  the  clear 
atmosphere. 

Over  this  scene  the  happy  couple  gazed  with  such  feelings 
as  none  can  gaze,  but  they  who  are  good  and  happy.  The 
sleepy  hum  of  the  good  mother's  wheel  came  drowsily  through 
the  open  doorway  ;  the  distant  laugh  and  cry  of  the  hunter's 
boys,  as  they  were  clearing  the  kennels  and  feeding  the  hounds 
for  the  night,  with  an  occasional  bay  or  whimper  of  their 
impatient  charges,  rose  pleasantly  on  the  night  air.  Most  of 
the  natural  sounds  and  sights  had  ceased ;  the  songs  of  the 
birds  were  silent,  for  the  nightingales  visit  not  those  valleys  of 
the  west ;  the  bleat  of  the  flocks  was  heard  no  more ;  the 
lowing  of  the  herds  had  passed  homeward  ;  only  a  few  late 
swallows  skimmed  the  bosom  of  the  mere,  which  a  leaping 
trout  would  break,  now  and  then,  with  a  loud  plash,  into  a 
silvery  maze  of  circling  dimples  ;  and  the  jarring  note  of  the 
nighthawk,  as  his  swift  wing  glanced  under  the  brown  shadows 
of  the  oak,  in  chase  of  the  great  evening  moths,  was  heard 


222  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

in  the  gloaming ;  and  the  pinions  of  the  great  golden-eagle 
hung  like  a  shadow,  leagues  up  in  the  burning  sky. 

Perfect  contentment  was  the  breathing  spirit  of  the  calm 
and  gentle  scene,  with  something  of  that  heavenly  peace 
which  induced  the  friend  of  Izaac  Walton  to  apostrophize 
the  Sabbath,  as 

"  Sweet  day,  so  calm,  so  pure,  so  bright, 
The  bridal  of  the  earth  and  sky ;" 

and  perfect  were  the  contentment  and  peace  which  the  adjuncts 
inspired  into  the  hearts  of  those,  who,  of  late  so  hopeless  and 
suffering,  now  looked  over  the  face  of  the  fair  earth,  and 
thence  upward  to  the  boundless  sky,  as  who  should  say,  "  Not 
in  one  only,  but  in  both  of  these,  we  have  our  heritage." 

But  while  they  gazed,  the  sun  sunk  lower  in  the  west,  the 
round  tops  of  the  vast  blue  mountains  intercepted  his  lustrous 
disk,  and  heavy  twilight  fell,  like  the  shadow  of  a  cloud,  over 
the  valley  and  the  steep  faces  of  the  north-eastern  hills. 

Just  at  this  moment,  while  the  girl  was  whispering  some 
thing  about  entering  the  house  and  preparing  the  evening- 
meal,  she  observed  her  husband's  eye  fixed  on  the  declivity  of 
the  hills  above  the  lake  shore,  and,  following  the  direction  of 
his  glance,  she  speedily  discovered  a  dark  figure  making  its 
way  in  a  crouching  attitude  among  the  stunted  shrubs,  and 
evidently  avoiding,  or  striving  to  avoid,  observation. 

Something  between  a  shudder  and  a  start  seemed  to  shake 
the  manly  form  of  Kenric  for  an  instant ;  and  his  young  wife, 
perceiving  it  as  she  clung  to  his  arm,  looked  up  to  his  face  for 
explanation. 

"  Something  is  going  wrong  up  yonder,"  said  the  verdurer ; 


THE     SUPPLIANT.  223 

"  some  marauder  after  the  roe-deer,  I  trow.  I  must  up  and 
after  him.  Give  me  my  bugle,  Edith,  my  wood-knife,  and 
my  gisarme  ;  I  will  take  the  black  alan  with  me ;  he  lies 
under  the  settle,  by  the  hearth.  Fetch  them,  girl." 

And  while  she  went,  he  stood  gazing  with  his  hawk's  eye 
on  the  lurking  figure,  though  it  was  wonderful,  in  the  distance 
and  gloom,  that  he  could  distinguish  even  the  outlines  of  the 
human  form.  Yet  it  was  evident  that  he  did  distinguish 
something  more  than  that,  for  he  smote  his  thigh  with  his 
hand  heavily,  as  he  muttered,  "  It  is  he,  by  St.  Edward  the 
Confessor !  What  new  disaster  can  have  brought  him  hither  ?" 

The  next  moment  Edith  stood  beside  him,  bearing  the 
weapons,  and  accompanied  by  the  great  grizzly  deer-gray- 
hound. 

"  Kenric,"  she  said,  as  he  was  leaving  her,  "  this  is  some 
thing  more  than  mere  marauders.  There  is  danger  !" 

"  I  trust  not,  girl,"  he  answered,  kindly  ;  "  but  if  there  be, 
I  and  Black  Balder  here,  are  men  enough  to  brunt  it.  But 
hark  you,  girl,  get  supper  over  as  quickly  as  you  may,  and 
have  our  mother  to  her  chamber,  and  the  varlets  to  their 
quarter  in  the  kennels ;  and  do  you  sit  up,  without  a  light, 
mark  me,  and,  whatever  shall  fall  out,  be  silent.  I  may  bring 
some  one  with  me." 

"  I  knew  it,"  she  murmured  to  herself,  as  she  turned  away 
to  do  his  bidding.  "  It  is  Eadwulf.  What  brings  him  hither  ? 
No  good,  I  warrant  me." 

Meanwhile  Kenric  scaled  the  crags  rapidly,  with  the  hound 
at  his  heels,  and,  when  he  reached  the  spot  where  he  had 
seen  the  figure,  halted,  and  whistled  a  bar  or  two  of  an  old 
Saxon  ballad  of  Sherwood.  It  was  answered,  and  from  out 


224  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

of  the  brushwood  Eadwulf  came,  cringing,  travel-soiled, 
weary,  and  disaster-stricken,  to  the  knees  almost  of  his 
brother. 

"  So.  This  is  thou,  Eadwulf  ?  I  thought  as  much.  What 
brings  thee  hither  ?" 

"  Almost  as  fair  cause  as  I  find  fair  welcome." 

"  I  looked  for  no  other.  Thou  art  a  runaway,  then,  and 
pursued  ?  Come,  speak  out,  man,  if  thou  wouldst  have  me 
aid  thee." 

"  Thou  dost  not  seem  overly  glad  to  see  me,  brother." 

"  How  should  I  be  glad  ?  When  did  thy  presence  ever  bring 
joy,  or  aught  else  than  disaster  and  disgrace  ?  But  speak, 
what  brings  thee  hither?  How  hast  thou  escaped?  Art 
thou  pursued  ?  What  dost  thou  require  ?" 

"  Last  asked,  first  answered.  Rest,  refuge,  clothing,  food, 
asylum.  Last  Monday  is  a  week,  I  was  pursued ;  pursuit  has 
ceased,  but  I  misdoubt  me  I  am  tracked.  By  strong  hand  I 
escaped,  and  fleet  foot — " 

"  By  red  hand  ?"  asked  Kenric. 

"  Ay  !  red,  with  the  blood  of  deer  !" 

"And  of  man,  Eadwulf?  Nay  !  man,  lie  not  to  me.  Dark 
as  it  is,  I  read  it  in  thy  black  brow  and  sullen  eye." 

"  Well,  then,  man's  blood,  if  you  will.  And  now,  will  you 
yield  your  own  brother's  life  a  forfeit  to  the  man-hunter,  or 
the  hunter  of  blood  ?" 

"  No,"  answered  Kenric,  sadly ;  "  that  must  not  be.  For 
you  are  my  brother.  But  I  must  know  all,  or  I  will  do 
nothing.  You  can  tell  me  as  we  go ;  my  home  is  in  the 
valley  yonder.  There  you  can  rest  to-night ;  to-morrow  you 
must  away  to  the  wilderness,  there  to  be  safe,  if  you  may, 


THE     SUPPLIANT.  225 

without  bringing  ruin  upon  those  who,  doing  all  for  you,  look 
for  nothing  from  you  but  wrong  and  ingratitude." 

"  To-morrow  !  True  brotherly  affection !  Right  Saxon 
hospitality.  Our  fathers  would  have  called  this  nidering  /" 

"  Never  heed  thou  that.  Tell  me  all  that  has  passed,  or 
thou  goest  not  to  my  house,  even  for  this  night  only.  For 
myself,  I  care  nothing,  and  fear  nothing.  My  wife,  and  my 
mother — these,  thy  blind  selfishness  and  brute  instincts,  at 
least,  shall  not  ruin." 

And  thereupon,  finding  farther  evasion  useless,  as  they 
went  homeward  by  a  circuitous  path  among  the  rocks  and 
dingles,  he  revealed  all  that  the  reader  knows  already,  and 
this  farther,  which  it  is  probable  he  has  suspected,  that  Ead- 
wulf,  lying  concealed  in  the  forest  in  pursuance  of  some  petty 
depredation,  had  been  a  witness  of  the  dastardly  murder  of 
Sir  Philip  de  Morville  by  the  hands  of  Sir  Foulke  d'Oilly  and 
his  train,  among  whom  most  active  was  the  black  seneschal, 
who  had  perished  so  fearfully  in  the  quicksands. 

"  Terrible,  terrible  indeed !"  said  Kenric,  as  he  ended  his 
.tale,  doggedly  told,  with  many  sullen  interruptions.  "Ter 
rible  his  deed,  and  terrible  thy  deeds,  Eadwulf ;  and,  of  all, 
most  terrible  the  deeds  of  Him  who  worked  out  his  will  by 
storm,  and  darkness,  and  the  terror  of  the  mighty  waters. 
And  of  a  surety,  terrible  will  be  the  vengeance  of  Foulke 
d'Oilly.  He  is  not  the  man  to  forget,  nor  are  thy  deeds, 
deeds  to  be  forgotten.  But  what  shall  I  say  to  thee,  obstinate, 
obdurate,  ill-doer,  senseless,  rash,  ungrateful,  selfish  ?  Already, 
in  this  little  time,  had  Edith  and  I  laid  by,  out  of  our  humble 
gains,  enough  to  purchase  two  thirds  of  thy  freedom.  Ere 
Yule-tide,  thou  hadst  been  as  free  a  man  as  stands  on  English 


226  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

earth,  and  now  thou  art  an  outlaw,  under  ban  forever,  and 
blood-guiltiness  not  to  be  pardoned ;  and  upon  us — us,  who 
would  have  coined  our  hearts'  blood  into  gold,  to  win  thy 
liberty — thou  hast  brought  the  odor,  and  the  burden,  and,  I 
scarce  doubt  it,  the  punishment,  of  thy  wicked  wilfullness.  It 
were  better  thou  hadst  perished  fifty-fold  in  the  accursed  sands 
of  Lancaster,  or  ere  thou  hadst  done  this  thing.  It  were  better 
a  hundred-fold  that  thou  hadst  never  been  born." 

"  Why  dost  not  add,  '  better  a  thousand-fold  thou  wert  de 
livered  up  to  the  avenger  of  blood,'  and  then  go  deliver 
me?" 

"  Words  are  lost  upon  thee,"  replied  his  brother,  shaking 
his  head  mournfully,  "  as  are  actions  likewise.  Follow  me ; 
thou  must  have  'tendance  and  rest  above  all  things,  and  to 
morrow  must  bring  forth  the  things  of  to-morrow." 

Nothing  more  passed  between  them  until  they  reached  the 
threshold  of  Kenric's  humble  dwelling,  where,  in  silence  and 
darkness,  with  the  door  ajar,  listening  to  every  distant  sound 
of  the  fitful  breeze  or  passing  water,  the  fair  young  wife  sat 
awaiting  them. 

She  arose,  as  they  entered.  "  Ah  !  it  is  thou,  Eadwulf ;  I 
thought  so,  from  the  first.  Enter,  and  sit.  Wilt  eat  or  bathe 
first  ?  thou  art  worn  and  weary,  brother,  as  I  can  see  by  this 
gloaming  light,  There  is  a  good  bed  ready  for  thee,  under 
the  rafters,  and  in  the  morning  thou  wilt  awake,  refreshed 
and  strong — " 

"Thou  thoughtst  so  from  the  first,  I  warrant  me  thou 
didst — mayhap  thy  husband  told  thee  so.  Brother,  too !  he 
hath  not  greeted  me  as  brother.  Eat,  bathe,  sleep  ?  neither 
of  the  three,  girl.  I'll  drink  first  of  all ;  and,  if  that  please 


THE     SUPPLIANT.  227 

thee,  then  eat,  then  sleep ;  and  bathe  when  I  may,  perhaps 
not  at  all." 

"Bring  him  the  mead-pitcher,  Edith,  and  the  big  horn, 
and  then  avoid  ye.  There  is  blood  on  his  hand,  and  worse 
than  blood  on  his  soul.  Leave  the  meat  on  the  board.  I  '11 
see  to  him." 

And  when  his  wishes  were  fulfilled,  they  were  left  alone, 
and  a  long,  gloomy  conversation  followed ;  and,  if  the  dark, 
sullen,  and  unthankful  heart  of  the  younger  brother  was  in 
no  sort  touched,  or  his  better  feelings — if  he  had  any — awak 
ened,  at  least  his  fears  were  aroused,  and,  casting  aside  all  his 
moroseness,  he  became  a  humble,  I  had  almost  said  a  craven, 
suppliant  for  protection. 

"  Protection !"  said  Kenric,  "  I  have  it  not  to  give,  nor  can 
I  ask  those  who  could.  I  know  not,  in  truth,  whether  in 
sheltering  you,  even  now,  I  do  not  risk  the  safety  of  all  that 
is  dear  to  me.  What  I  can  do,  I  will.  This  night,  and  all 
the  day  to-morrow,  I  will  conceal  thee  here,  come  of  it  what 
come  may ;  and,  at  the  dead  of  the  next  night,  will  guide 
thee,  through  the  passes,  to  the  upper  hill  country,  where  thou 
wilt  soon  find  men,  like  thyself,  of  desperate  lives  and  for 
tunes.  Money,  so  much  as  I  have,  I  will  give  thee,  and  food 
for  thy  present  need ;  but  arms,  save  thy  wood-knife,  thou 
shalt  take  none  hence.  I  will  not  break  faith  nor  betray  duty 
to  my  lord,  let  what  may  come  of  it ;  and,  if  I  find  thee  tres 
passing  on  his  chase,  or  hunting  of  his  deer,  I  will  deal  with 
thee  as  a  stranger,  not  as  a  kinsman.  No  thanks,  Eadwulf ; 
nor  no  promises.  I  have  no  faith  in  thee,  nor  any  hope,  save 
that  we  two  may  never  meet  again.  And  so,  good-night." 

And  with  the  word,  he  led  him  to  a  low  room  under  the 


228  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

rafters,  furnished  with  a  tolerable  bed,  but  remote  from  all 
observation,  where  he  was  tended  all  the  following  day,  and 
watched  by  Edith,  or  by  himself  in  person,  until  the  next  night 
settled  dark  and  moonless  over  wild  fell  and  mountain  tarn  ; 
when  he  conducted  him  up  the  tremendous  passes  which 
lead  to  the  desolate  but  magnificent  wilderness,  stretching,  in 
those  days,  untrodden  save  by  the  deer,  the  roebuck,  the 
tusky  boar,  the  gray  wolf,  or  the  grizzly  outlaw,  for  countless 
•leagues  around  the  mighty  masses  of  Helvellyn,  Saddleback, 
and  Skiddaw,  the  misty  mountain  refuge  of  all  conquered 
races — of  the  grim  Celts  from  the  polished  Romans,  of  the 
effete  Britons  from  the  sturdy  Saxons,  of  the  vanquished 
Anglo-Saxons,  from  the  last  victorious  Normans. 

They  parted,  with  oaths  of  fidelity  and  vows  of  gratitude 
never  to  be  fulfilled  on  the  part  of  Eadwulf,  with  scarce  con 
cealed  distrust  on  the  part  of  Kenric. 

It  was  broad  day  when  the  latter  returned  to  his  happy 
home  by  Kentmere ;  and  the  first  object  he  beheld  was  his 
wife,  gazing  despondingly  on  his  own  crossbow  and  bolts, 
each  branded  with  his  name — "Kenric,  born  thrall  of  Philip 
de  Morville,"  of  which,  unwittingly  he  had  disarmed  his 
brother  on  the  night  of  his  arrival. 

His  heart  fell  as  he  looked  upon  the  well-known  weapons  ; 
and  thought  that  probably  it  was  one  of  those  marked  and 
easily-recognized  bolts  which  had  quivered  in  the  heart  of  the 
bailiff  of  Waltheofstow ;  but  his  wife  knew  not  the  dark  tale, 
and  he  was  not  the  man  to  disturb  her  peace  of  mind,  how 
ever  his  own  might  be  distracted,  by  any  dubious  or  uncertain 
fear. 

"  It  is  my  old  arbalast,"  he  said,  "  which  Eadwulf  brought 


THE     SUPPLIANT.  229 

with  him  from  our  ancient  home.  Lay  it  aside.  I  will  never 
use  it  more ;  but  it  will  be  as  a  memento  of  what  we  once 
were,  but,  thanks  to  God  and  our  good  lords,  are  no  longer. 
And  now  give  me  my  breakfast,  Edith ;  I  must  be  at  the 
castle,  to  speak  of  all  this  with  Sir  Yvo,  ere  noon  ;  I  will  be 
back  to-night,  girl ;  but  not,  I  trow,  until  the  northern  bear 
has  sunk  behind  the  hills.  Till  then,  may  He  keep  thee  ! 

And  he  was  grave  and  abstracted  during  all  the  morning 
meal,  and  only  kissed  her  in  silence,  and  blessed  her  inwardly, 
in  his  own  true  heart,  as  he  departed. 


CHAPTER    XX. 


THE     LADY     AND     HER     LOVER. 


Fair  Ellen  that  was  so  mild 

More  she  beheld  Triamour  tho  child, 

Than  all  other  men. 

SIR  TKIAJIOUK. 


LONG  before  the  dawn  had  begun  to  grow  gray  in  the  east, 
Kenric  had  taken  his  way  to  the  castle,  by  a  direct  path 
across  the  hills  to  a  point  on  the  lake  shore,  where  there 
always  lay  a  small  ferry-boat,  for  the  use  of  the  castellan,  his 
household,  and  vassals.  Edith,  to  whom  he  had  told  all  that  he 
had  extorted  from  Eadwulf,  and  who,  like  himself,  clearly 
foresaw  difficulty  and  danger  at  hand,  arising  from  the  con 
duct  and  flight  of  the  ill-conditioned  and  ill-starred  brother, 
went  about  her  household  work,  most  unusual  for  her,  with  a 
melancholy  and  despondent  heart. 

She,  who  while  a  serf  had  been  constantly,  almost  reck 
lessly  gay,  as  one  who  had  no  sorrow  for  which  to  care,  wore 
a  grave  brow,  and  carried  a  heavy  heart.  For  liberty,  if  it 
give  independence  to  the  body  and  its  true  expansion  to  the 
soul,  brings  responsibility  also,  and  care.  She  carolled  this 
morning  no  blythe  old  Saxon  ballads  as  she  kneaded  her  bar 
ley  cakes,  or  worked  her  overflowing  churn ;  she  had  this 


THE  LADY  AND  HER  LOVER          231 

morning  no  merry  word  with,  which  to  greet  the  verdurer's 
boys,  as  they  came  and  went  from  her  ample  kitchen  with 
messes  for  the  hounds  to  the  kennels,  or  raw  meat  for  the 
eyasses  in  the  mews ;  and  they  wondered  not  a  little,  for  the 
kindness  and  merry  humor  of  their  young  mistress  had  won 
their  hearts,  and  they  were  grieved  to  see  her  downcast.  She 
was  restless,  and  unable,  as  it  seemed,  to  settle  herself  to  any 
thing,  coming  and  going  from  one  place  to  another,  without 
much  apparent  object,  and  every  half  hour  or  so,  opening  the 
door  and  gazing  wistfully  down  the  valley,  toward  the  sea, 
not  across  the  hills  over  which  her  husband  had  bent  his 
way. 

It  must  have  been  nearly  ten  o'clock,  in  those  unsophis 
ticated  days  approaching  nearly  to  the  dinner  hour,  when 
something  caught  her  eye  at  a  distance,  which  instantly 
brought  a  bright  light  into  it,  and  a  clear,  rich  color  to  her 
cheek ;  and  she  clapped  her  hands  joyously,  crying,  "  I  am 
so  glad !  so  glad !"  Then,  hurrying  into  the  house,  she 
called  to  the  boys,  giving  them  quick,  eager  orders,  and  set 
herself  to  work  arranging  the  house,  strewing  the  floor  with 
fresh  green  rushes,  and  decking  the  walls  with  holly  branches, 
the  bright-red  berries  of  the  mountain  ash,  wild  asters,  and 
such  late  wood-flowers  as  yet  survived,  with  a  spirit  very  dif 
ferent  from  the  listless  mood  which  had  possessed  her. 

What  was  the  vision  that  had  so  changed  the  tenor  of  her 
mind  ? 

Winding  through  one  of  those  green  lanes — which  form  so 

•f 

exquisite  a  feature  in  the  scenery  of  the  lake  country,  with 
their  sinuous,  gray  boundary  stone  walls,  bordered  with  ashes, 
hazels,  wild  roses,  and  beds  of  tall  fern  ai  their  base,  while 


232     .  SHERWOOD     FOEEST. 

the  walls  themselves  are  overspread  with  small  ferns,  wild 
strawberries,  the  geranium,  and  rich  lichens — there  came  a 
fair  company,  the  persons  of  which  were  easily  distinguished 
by  Edith,  in  that  clear  atmosphere,  when  at  a  mile's  distance 
from  the  cottage — a  mile  which  was  augmented  into  nearly 
three  by  the  meanderings  of  the  lane,  corresponding  with 
those  of  the  brook. 

In  the  front  rode  a  lady,  the  Lady  Guendolen,  on  a  beauti 
ful  chesnut-colored  Andalusian  jennet,  with  snow-white  mane 
and  tail,  herself  splendidly  attired  in  a  dark  murrey-colored 
skirt,  passamented  with  black  embroidery,  and  above  it  a 
surcoat  or  tunic,  fitting  the  body  closely  a  little  way  below  the 
hips,  of  blue  satin,  embroidered  in  silver  with  the  armorial 
bearings  of  her  house — a  custom  as  usual  in  those  days  with 
the  ladies  as  with  the  knights  of  the  great  houses.  Her  head 
was  covered  with  a  small  cap  of  blue  velvet,  with  one  white 
feather,  and  on  her  left  hand,  covered  by  a  doe-skin  hawking- 
glove,  was  set  a  superb  gosshawk,  unhooded,  so  familiar  was 
he  with  his  bright  mistress,  and  held  only  by  a  pair  of  silver 
jesses,  corresponding  with  the  silver  bells  which  decked  his 
yellow  legs,  and  jingled  at  his  every  motion.  By  her  side, 
attending  far  more  to  his  fair  companion  than  to  the  fiery 
horse  which  he  bestrode,  was  a  young  cavalier,  bending  over 
her  with  an  air  of  the  deepest  tenderness,  hanging  on  her 
words  as  if  they  were  more  than  the  sweetest  music  to  his 
soul,  and  gazing  on  her  with  affection  so  obvious  as  to  show 
him  a  permitted  lover.  lie  was  a  powerful,  finely-formed 
young  man,  of  six  or  eight-and-twenty  years,  with  a  frank 
open  countenance,  full  of  intellect,,  nobleness,  and  spirit,  with 
an  occasional  shadow  of  deep  thought,  but  hardly  to  be 


THE  LADY  AND  HER  LOVER.         233 

called  handsome,  unless  it  were  for  the  expression,  since  the 
features,  though  well  cut,  were  not  regular,  and  the  com 
plexion  was  too  much  sun-burned  and  weather-hardened  even 
for  manly  beauty. 

Altogether  he  was,  however,  a  remarkably  attractive-looking 
person.  He  sat  his  horse  superbly,  as  a  king  might  sit  his 
throne  ;  his  every  motion  was  perfect  majesty  of  grace  ;  and 
when  he  smiled,  so  radiant  was  the  glance  lighting  up  the 
dark  face,  that  he  was,  for  the  moment,  actually  handsome. 
He  was  dressed  in  a  plain,  dark  hunting  suit,  with  a  bonnet 
and  feather  of  the  same  hue,  and  untanned  deer  buskins,  the 
only  ornament  he  wore  being  a  long  blue  scarf,  of  the  same 
color  as  the  surcoat  of  his  mistress,  and  embroidered,  probably 
by  her  hand,  with  the  same  bearings.  The  spurs  in  his 
buskins,  however,  were  not  gilded,  and  the  light  estoc,  or 
sharp-pointed  hunting-sword,  which  hung  at  his  left  side, 
showed  by  its  form  that  he  had  not  yet  attained  the  honors  of 
knighthood. 

Aradas  de  Ratcliffe  was  the  heir  male  of  a  line,  one  of  the 
first  and  noblest  which  had  settled  in  the  lake  country,  in  the 
beautiful  vale  of  Rydal,  but  a  little  way  distant  to  the  north 
ward  from  the  lands  of  Sir  Yvo  de  Taillebois.  His  father,  a 
baron  of  great  renown,  had  taken  the  Cross  when  far  advanced 
in  life,  and  proceeding  to  the  Holy  Land  with  that  disastrous 
Wond  Crusade,  led  by  Conrad  IE.  the  German  Emperor,  and 
Louis  VII.  of  France,  at  the  summoning  of  Pope  Eugene  III., 
had  fallen  in  the  first  encounter  with  the  infidels,  and  dying 
under  shield,  knight-like,  had  left  his  infant  son  with  no  other 
guardian  than  his  mother,  a  noble  lady  of  the  house  of  Fitz 
Norman. 


234  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

She  had  discharged  her  trust  as  became  the  character  of 
her  race ;  and  so  soon  as  the  boy  was  of  sufficient  years,  he 
was  entered  in  the  household  of  Sir  Yvo  de  Taillebois,  as  the 
finest  school  in  the  whole  realm  for  the  aspirant  to  honor  in 
arms. 

Here,  as  page  and  esquire,  he  had  served  nearly  twenty 
years  of  his  life,  first  following  his  lord's  stirrup,  until  he  was 
perfect  in  the  use  of  his  arms,  and  old  enough  to  wield  them ; 
then,  fighting  in  his  train,  until  he  had  proved  himself  of  such, 
stern  fidelity  and  valor,  that  he  became  his  favorite  attendant, 
and  most  trusted  man-at-arms. 

In  feudal  days,  it  must  be  remembered  that  it  was  no  dis 
grace  to  a  scion  of  the  highest  family  to  serve  his  pagehood 
under  a  noble  or  knight  of  lineage  and  renown  ;  on  the  con 
trary,  it  was  both  a  condition  that  must  be  undergone,  and 
one  held  as  an  honor  to  both  parties  ;  so  much  so,  that  barons 
of  the  greatest  name  and  vastest  demesnes  in  the  realm  would 
often  solicit,  and  esteem  it  as  a  high  favor,  to  have  their  sons 
ride  as  pages  in  the  train  of  some  almost  landless  knight,  whose 
extraordinary  prowess  should  have  won  him  an  extraordinary 
name. 

These  youths,  moreover,  as  they  were  nobly  born,  so  were 
they  nobly  entreated ;  nothing  low  or  mean  was  suffered  to 
come  before  them.  Even  in  their  services,  nothing  menial 
was  required  of  them.  To  arm  their  lord  for  battle,  to  follow 
him  to  the  tournament  or  to  the  field,  where  to  rush  in  to  his 
rescue  if  beaten  down,  to  tend  his  hurts  if  wounded,  to  bear 
his  messages,  and  guard  his  secrets  as  his  own  life,  to  wait  on 
the  ladies — these  were  the  duties  of  a  page  in  the  twelfth 
century.  Courage,  truth,  honor,  fidelity  unto  death,  courtesy, 


THE  LADY  AND  HER  LOVER.         235 

humility  to  the  humble,  haughtiness  to  the  haughty — these 
were  the  lessons  taught  him.  It  may  be  doubted  whether  our 
teachings  iu  the  nineteenth  are  so  far  superior,  and  whether 
they  bear  so  far  better  fruits  in  the  end  ! 

Be  this,  however,  as  it  may,  Aradas  de  Ratcliffe,  having 
grown  up  in  the  same  household  with  the  beautiful  Guendolen, 
though  some  twelve  years  her  senior,  had  grown  up  to  love 
her ;  and  his  promise  of  manhood  being  in  no  wise  inferior 
to  her  beauty,  his  birth  equal  to  her  own,  and  his  dead  father 
an  old  and  trusted  friend  of  Sir  Yvo,  he  was  now  riding  by 
her  side,  not  only  as  her  surest  defender,  but  as  her  affianced 
husband ;  it  being  settled,  that  so  soon  as  the  youthful  esquire 
should  have  won  his  knightly  spurs,  the  lands  of  Hawkshead, 
Coniston,  and  Yewdale,  should  be  united  with  the  adjoining 
demesnes  of  Rydal  manor,  dim  with  its  grand  old  woods,  by 
the  union  of  the  heiress  of  De  Taillebois  to  the  heir  of  the 
proud  Ratcliffes. 

And  now  they  had  ridden  forth  on  this  bright  and  fair 
autumnal  morning,  partly  to  fly  their  hawks  at  the  herons, 
for  which  the  grassy  meads  in  the  vale  of  Kentmere  were 
famous,  partly  to  visit  the  new  home  o/  Guendolen's  favorite 
Edith,  and  more,  in  truth,  than  all,  to  enjoy  the  pleasure  of  a 
loving  tete-a-tete  ;  for  the  girl  who  followed  her  lady  kept  dis 
creetly  out  of  ear-shot,  and  amused  herself  flirting  with  the 
single  page  who  accompanied  them ;  and  the  rest  of  the 
train,  consisting  of  grooms,  falconers,  and  varlets,  bearing  the 
hawks  and  leading  the  sumpter-mules,  lagged  considerably  in 
the  rear. 

There  was  not,  however,  very  much  of  gayety  in  the  man 
ner  of  either  of  the  young  people  ;  the  fair  face  of  Guendolen 


236  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

was  something  paler  than  its  use,  and  her  glad  eyes  had  a 
beseeching  look,  even  while  she  smiled,  and  while  her  voice  was 
playful ;  and  there  was  a  sorrowful  shadow  on  the  brow  of 
Aradas,  and  he  spoke  in  a  grave,  low  tone,  though  it  was  full 
of  gentleness  and  trust. 

In  truth,  like  Jacob  of  old,  when  he  served  for  the  daughters 
of  Laban,  the  young  esquire  was  waxing  weary  of  the  long 
servitude  and  the  hope  deferred.  The  temporary  lull  of  war, 
which  at  that  time  prevailed  over  both  England  and  the 
French  provinces  belonging  to  the  crown,  gave  him  no  hope 
of  speedily  winning  the  desired  spurs ;  and  the  bloody  wars, 
which  were  in  progress  on  the  shores  of  the  sister  island, 
though  fierce  and  sanguinary  enough  to  satisfy  the  most  eager 
for  the  perils  and  honors  of  the  battle-field,  were  not  so  evi 
dently  favored  by  the  monarch,  or  so  clear  from  the  taint  of 
piracy,  as  to  justify  a  cavalier,  of  untainted  character  and  un 
broken  fortunes,  in  joining  the  invaders.  But  in  this  very 
year  had  the  eyes  of  all  the  Christian  world  been  strongly 
turned  toward  Palestine,  where  Baldwin  IV.,  a  minor,  and  a 
•ieper,  and  no  match  for  the  talents  and  power  of  the  victorious 
Saladin,  sat  feebly  on  the  throne  of  the  strong  crusading 
Kings  of  Jerusalem,  which  was  now  tottering  to  its  fall,  under 
the  fierce  assaults  of  the  Mussulman. 

Henry  II.  and  Louis  of  France  had  sworn  to  maintain 
between  them  the  peace  of  God,  and  to  join  in  a  third  Crusade 
for  the  defense  of  the  Tomb  of  Christ  and  the  Holy  City.  In 
this  war,  Aradas  saw  the  certainty  of  winning  knighthood  ;  but 
Guendolen,  who  would  have  armed  her  champion  joyously, 
and  buckled  on  his  sword  with  her  own  hand,  for  any  Euro 
pean  conflict,  shuddered  at  the  tales  of  the  poisoned  sarbacanes 


THE  LADY  AND  HER  LOVER.         237 

and  arrows  with  which  report  armed  the  gigantic  Saracens — 
shuddered  at  the  knives  of  the  assassins  of  the  mountains — 
at  the  pestilences  which  were  known  to  brood  over  those  arid 
shores  ;  and  yet  more,  at  the  strange  monsters,  dragons,  and 
winged-serpents — nay,  fiends  and  incarnate  demons — with 
which  superstitious  horror  peopled  the  solitudes  which  had 
witnessed  the  awful  scenes  of  the  Temptation,  the  Passion, 
and  the  Death,  of  the  Son  of  God. 

In  short,  she  interposed  her  absolute  nay,  with  the  quiet 
but  positive  determination  of  a  woman,  and  clinched  it  with 
a  woman's  argument. 

"  You  do  not  love  me,  Aradas,"  she  said  ;  "  I  know  you  do 
not  love  me,  or  you  would  never  think  of  speaking  of  that 
fearful  country,  or  of  taking  the  Cross — that  country,  from 
which  no  one  ever  returns  alive — or,  if  he  do  return,  returns 
so  bent  and  bowed  with  plague  and  fever,  or  so  hacked  and 
mangled  by  the  poisoned  weapons  of  the  savages,  that  he  is 

an  old  man  ere  his  prime,  and  dead  before No,  no  !  I 

will  not  hear  of  it !  No,  I  will  not !  I  will  not  love  you,  if 
you  so  much  as  breathe  it  to  me  again,  Aradas !" 

"  That  were  a  penalty,"  said  the  young  man,  half-sadly 
smiling  ;  "  but,  can  you  help  it,  Guendolen  ?" 

"  Don't  trust  in  that,  sir,"  she  said.  "  One  can  do  any 
thing — every  thing — by  trying." 

"  Can  one,  pardie  !  I  would  you  would  show  me,  then, 
how  to  win  these  spurs  of  gold,  by  trying." 

"  I  can.  Be  firm,  be  faithful,  and,  above  all,  be  patient. 
Remember,  without  hope,  without  patience,  there  is  no  evi 
dence  of  faith ;  without  faith,  there  is,  there  can  be,  neither 
true  chivalry  nor  true  love.  Besides,  we  are  very  young,  we 


238  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

are  very  happy  as  we  are  ;  occasion  will  come  up,  perhaps  is 
at  hand  even  now ;  and — and: — well,  if  I  am  worth  having, 
I  am  worth  waiting  for,  Beausire  Aradas ;  and  if  you  don't 
think  so,  by  'r  lady,  you  'd  better  bestow  yourself  where — " 

"  Whoop !  whoop  !  So  ho !  He  mounts  !  he  mounts  !" 
A  loud  shout  from  the  rear  of  the  party  interrupted  her.  In 
the  earnestness  of  their  conversation,  they  had  cleared  the 
confines  of  the  winding  lane,  and  entered,  without  observing 
it,  a  beautiful  stretch  of  meadow-land,  intersected  by  small 
rivulets  and  water-courses,  sloping  down  to  the  late  shore. 
Some  of  the  grooms  and  varlets  had  spread  out  over  the  flat 
grass-land,  beating  the  reeds  with  their  hawking-poles,  and 
cheering  their  merry  spaniels.  The  shout  was  elicited  by  the 
sudden  uprising  of  the  great,  long-necked  hermit-fisher,  from 
a  broad  reed  belt  by  the  stream-side,  flapping  his  broad  gray 
vans  heavily  on  the  light  air,  and  stretching  his  long  yellow 
legs  far  behind  him,  as  he  soared  skyward,  with  his  harsh, 
clanging  cry. 

All  eyes  were  instantly  turned  to  the  direction  of  the  shout, 
and  every  heart  bounded  at  the  sight  of  the  quarry. 

"  Whoop  !  Diamond  !  whoop  !"  cried  the  young  girl,  as  she 
cast  off  her  gallant  falcon ;  and  then,  seeing  her  lover  throw 
off  his  long-winged  peregrine  to  join  in  the  flight,  "  A  wager, 
Aradas.  My  glove  on  *  Diamond'  against  *  Helvellyn.'  What 
will  you  wager,  Beausire  ?" 

"  My  heart !" 

"  Nay !  I  have  that  already.  Else  you  swore  falsely. 
Against  your  turquoise  ring.  I  '11  knot  my  kerchief  with  it." 

"  A  wager  !  Now  ride,  Guendolen  ;  ride,  if  you  would  see 
the  wager  won." 


THE  LADY  AND  HER  LOVER.         239 

And  they  gave  the  head  to  their  horses,  and  rode  furiously. 
No  riding  is  so  desperate,  it  is  said,  no  excitement  so  tremend 
ous,  as  that  of  the  short,  fierce,  reckless  gallop  in  the  chase 
where  bird  hunts  bird  through  the  boundless  fields  of  air. 
Not  even  the  tremendous  burst  and  rally  of  the  glorious 
hunts-up,  with  the  heart-inspiring  crash  of  the  hounds,  and 
the  merry  blare  of  the  bugles,  when  the  hart  of  grease  has 
broken  covert,  and  the  pack  are  running  him  breast  high. 

In  the  latter,  the  heart  may  beat,  the  pulse  may  throb  and 
quiver,  but  the  eye  is  unoccupied,  and  free  to  direct  the  hand, 
to  rule  the  courser's  gallop,  and  mark  the  coming  leap.  In 
the  former,  the  eye,  as  the  heart,  and  the  pulse,  and  the  ear, 
are  all  bent  aloft,  up  !  up  !  with  the  straining,  towering  birds ; 
while  the  steed  must  pick  its  own  way  over  smooth  or 
rough,  and  the  rider  take  his  leaps  as  they  chance  to  come, 
unseen  and  unexpected.  Such  was  the  glorious  mystery  of 
Rivers  ! 

The  wind,  what  little  of  it  there  was  when  the  heron  rose, 
was  from  the  southward,  and  the  bird  flew  before  it  directly 
toward  the  cottage  of  Kenric,  rising  slowly  but  strongly  into 
the  upper  regions  of  air.  The  two  falcons,  which  were  nearly 
half  a  mile  astern  of  the  quarry  when  they  were  cast  off,  flew 
almost,  as  it  seemed,  with  the  speed  of  lightning,  in  parallel 
lines  about  fifty  yards  apart,  rising  as  he  rose,  and  evidently 
gaining  on  him  at  every  stroke  of  their  long,  sharp  pinions, 
in  pursuit.  And  in  pursuit  of  those,  their  riders  sitting  well 
back  in  their  saddles,  and  holding  them  hard  by  the  head, 
the  high-blooded  horses  tore  across  the  marshy  plain,  driving 
fragments  of  turf  high  into  the  air  at  every  stroke,  and  sweep 
ing  over  the  drains  and  water-courses  which  obstructed  their 


240  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

career,  like  the  unbridled  wind.  It  was  a  glorious  spectacle — 
a  group  of  incomparable  splendor,  in  coloring,  in  grace,  in  viva 
city,  motion,  fire,  sweeping  through  that  panorama  of  mag 
nificent  mountain  scenery. 

The  day  was  clear  and  sunny,  the  skies  soft  and  trans 
parently  blue  ;  but,  ever  and  anon,  huge  clouds  came  driving 
over  the  scene,  casting  vast  purple-shadows  over  the  green 
meadows  and  the  mirrored  lake.  One  of  these  now  came 
sweeping  overhead,  and  toward  it  towered  the  contending 
birds.  The  heron,  when  he  saw  that  he  was  pursued,  uttered 
a  louder  and  harsher  cry,  and  began  to  scale  the  sky  in  great 
aerial  circles.  Silent,  in  smaller  circles,  towered  the  falcons, 
each  emulous  to  out-top  the  others.  Up !  up  !  higher  and 
higher  !  Neither  victorious  yet,  neither  vanquished.  JSTow ! 
now !  the  falcons  are  on  a  level  with  him,  and  again  rings 
the  clanging  shriek  of  the  wild  water-bird,  and  he  redoubles 
his  last  effort.  He  rises,  he  out-tops  the  hawks,  and  all  vanish 
in  an  instant  from  the  eyes  of  the  pursuers,  swallowed  up  in 
the  depths  of  the  great  golden  cloud. 

Still  the  harsh  clanking  cry  is  heard ;  and  now,  as  they 
and  the  cloud  still  drift  northward,  they  reappear,  now  all  de 
scending,  above  the  little  esplanade  before  the  cottage-door 
where  Edith  stands  watching. 

The  heron  is  below,  falling  plumb  through  the  air  with  his 
back  downward,  his  wings  flapping  at  random,  his  long  neck 
trussed  on  his  breast,  and  his  sharp  bill  projecting  upward, 
perilous  as  the  point  of  a  Moorish  assagay.  The  falcons 
both  above  him,  towering  for  the  swoop,  Aradas'  Helvellyn 
the  topmost. 

He  pointed  to  the  birds  with  his  riding-rod  triumphantly, 


THE  LADY  AND  HER  LOVER.         241 

and  glancing  an  arch  look  at  his  mistress,  "  Helvellyn  has  it," 
he  said  ;  "  Palestine  or  no  Palestine,  on  the  stoop  !" 

"  On  the  hawks !"  she  replied  ;  "  and  heaven  decide  it !" 

"  I  will  wear  the  glove  in  my  casque  in  the  first  career," 
and,  as  he  spoke,  the  falcon  closed  his  wings  and  came  down 
with  a  swoop  like  lightning  on  the  devoted  quarry.  The  rush 
of  his  impetuous  plunge,  cleaving  the  air,  was  clearly  audible, 
above  the  rustling  of  the  leaves  and  the  noise  of  the  pursuers. 

But  the  gallant  heron  met  the  shock  unflinching,  and 
Helvellyn,  gallant  Helvellyn,  came  down  like  a  catapult 
upon  the  deadly  beak  of  the  fierce  wader,  and  was  impaled 
from  breast  to  back  in  a  second.  There  was  a  minute  of 
wild  convulsive  fluttering,  and  then  the  heron  shook  off  his 
assailant,  who  drifted  slowly  down,  writhing  and  struggling, 
with  all  his  beauteous  plumes  disordered  and  bedropped  with 
gore,  to  the  dull  earth,  while,  with  a  clang  of  triumph,  the 
victor  once  more  turned  to  rise  heavenward. 

The  cry  of  triumph  was  premature,  for,  even  as  it  was 
uttered,  brave  Diamond  made  his  stoop.  Swift  and  sure  as 
the  bolt  of  Heaven,  he  found  his  aim,  and,  burying  his  keen 
singles  to  the  sheath  in  the  back  of  the  tortured  waterfowl, 
clove  his  skull  at  a  single  stroke  of  the  trenchant  bill. 

"  Hurrah !  hurrah !  brave  Diamond,"  cried  the  delighted 
girl.  "  No  Palestine !  no  Palestine  !  For  this,  your  bells  and 
jesses  shall  be  of  gold,  beautiful  Diamond,  and  your  drink  of 
the  purest  wine  of  Gascony." 

And,  giving  head  to  her  jennet,  the  first  of  all  the  train  she 
reached  the  spot  where  the  birds  lay  struggling  on  the  grass 
within  ten  yards  of  Kenric's  door,  and,  as  she  sprang  from  her 
saddle,  was  caught  in  the  arms  of  Edith. 
11 


242  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

"  God's  blessings  on  you !  welcome !  welcome !  dearest 
lady,"  cried  the  beautiful  Saxon,  raining  down  tears  of 
gratitude. 

"  Thanks,  Edith  ;  but,  quick !  quick !  help  me  save  the  fal 
con,  lest  the  heronshaw  hurt  him.  My  life  was  at  stake  on 
his  flight,  and  he  has  saved  my  life  !" 

"  The  heronshaw  is  dead  enough,  lady,  he  will  hurt  nothing 
more,"  said  the  Saxon,  following  her  lady,  nevertheless,  to 
secure  the  gallant  gosshawk,  which  in  a  moment  sat  pluming 
his  ruffled  feathers,  and  glaring  at  her  triumphantly  with  his 
clear  golden  eye,  as  he  arched  his  proud  neek  to  her  caresses, 
on  the  wrist  of  his  fair  mistress. 

It  seemed  as  though  he  knew  that  he  had  won  her  wager. 

The  hour  of  the  noonday  meal  had  now  fully  arrived,  and 
the  sumpter  mules  were  soon  brought  up,  and  carpets  spread 
on  the  turf,  and  flasks  and  barrels,  pasties  and  brawns,  and 
huge  boars'  heads  unpacked  in  tempting  profusion,  and  all 
preparations  made  for  a  meal  in  the  open  air. 

But  Edith  pleaded  so  hard  that  her  dear  lady,  to  whom  she 
owed  more  than  life,  whom  she  loved  more  than  her  own  life, 
would  honor  her  humble  roof,  would  suffer  the  choicest  of  the 
viands  to  be  borne  into  her  pleasant,  sunny  room,  and  taste 
her  home-brewed  mead,  that  Guendolen,  who  was  in  rapture 
at  her  triumph,  readily  consented,  and  Aradas,  who  was 
pleased  to  see  Guendolen  happy,  made  no  opposition. 

So,  while  amid  loud  merriment,  and  the  clang  of  flasks  and 
beakers,  and  the  clash  of  knives  and  trenchers,  their  train 
fared  jovially  and  lustily  without,  they  feasted  daintily  and 
happily  within  the  Saxon's  cottage. 

And  the  sunny  room  was  pleasant ;  and  the  light  played 


THE     L  A  D  r     AND     HER     LOVER.  243 

cheerfully  on  the  polished  pewter  trenchers  on  the  dresser, 
and  the  varnished  holly  and  scarlet  berries,  and  bright  wild- 
flowers  on  the  wall ;  and  the  sparkling  wood  fire  was  not 
amiss  after  the  gallop  in  the  clear  air ;  and  Guendolen  pre 
ferred  the  light,  foaming  mead  of  the  Saxon  housewife,  to  the 
wines  of  Gascony  and  Bordeaux ;  and  all  went  happily  and 
well. 

Above  all,  Edith  gained  her  point.  She  got  occasion  to 
tell  the  tale  of  Eadwulf  s  flight,  arrival,  and  departure,  and 
obtained  a  promise  of  protection  for  her  husband,  in  case  he 
should  be  brought  in  question  for  his  share  in  his  brother's 
escape ;  and  even  prevailed  that  no  search  should  be  made 
after  Eadwulf,  provided  he  would  keep  himself  aloof,  and 
commit  no  offense  against  the  pitiless  forest  laws,  or  depre 
dations  on  the  people  of  the  dales. 

Many  strange  emotions  of  indignation,  sympathy,  horror, 
alternately  swept  through  the  mind  of  Guendolen,  and  were 
reflected  from  her  eloquent  eyes ;  and  many  times  did  Aradas 
twirl  his  thick  mustache,  and  gripe  his  dagger's  hilt,  as  they 
heard  the  vicissitudes  of  that  strange  tale — the  base  and  das 
tardly  murder  of  the  noble  and  good  Sir  Philip  de  Morville ; 
the  slaying  of  the  bailiff  by  the  hand  of  Eadwulf,  which  thus 
came  to  look  liker  to  lawful  retribution  than  to  mere  homicide  ; 
the  strange  chances  of  the  serf's  escape  ;  the  wonderful  wiles 
by  which  he  had  baffled  the  speed  of  horses  and  the  scent  of 
bloodhounds  ;  and  the  final  catastrophe  of  the  sands,  swallow 
ing  up,  as  it  would  seem,  well-nigh  all  the  slaughterers  of  Sir 
Philip,  while  sparing  the  panting  and  heart-broken  fugitive. 
It  was  indeed  a  tale  more  strange  and  horrible  than  any 
thing,  save  truth. 


244  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

They  sat  some  time  in  silence,  musing.  Then  suddenly,  as 
by  an  impulse,  their  eyes  met.  Their  meaning  was  the  same. 

"Yes!"  he  said,  bowing  his  head  gravely,  in  answer  to 
what  he  read  in  her  look,  "  there  may  be  an  occasion,  and  a 
very  noble  one." 

"  And  for  such  an  one,  I  will  bind  my  glove  on  your 
casque,  and  buckle  your  sword  to  your  side  very  gladly." 

"  Amen  !"  said  he.  "  Be  it  as  God  wills.  He  will  defend 
the  right." 

So,  bidding  their  pretty  hostess  adieu,  not  leaving  her 
without  a  token  of  their  visit  and  good- will,  they  mounted 
and  rode  homeward,  thinking  no  more  of  the  sport ;  graver, 
perhaps,  and  more  solemn  in  their  manner;  but,  on  the 
whole,  happier  and  more  hopeful  than  when  they  set  forth  in 
the  morning. 

And  Edith,  though  she  understood  nothing  of  the  impulses 
of  their  hearts,  was  grateful  and  content ;  and  when  her  hus 
band  returned  home,  and,  hanging  about  his  neck,  she  told 
him  what  she  had  done,  and  how  she  had  prospered,  and 
received  his  approbation  and  caresses,  was  that  night  the  hap 
piest  woman  within  the  four  seas  that  gird  Britain. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 


THE     ARREST. 


Count.  If  tliou  be  he,  then  thou  nit  prisoner. 
Tal.  Prisoner  to  whom? 

SHAKESPEARE. 


FOR  several  days  after  the  visit  of  the  Lady  Guendolen  and 
her  lover  to  the  house  of  the  verdurer  of  Kentmere,  rumors, 
many  of  which  had  been  afloat  since  the  catastrophe  on  the 
sands,  began  to  increase  among  the  dalesmen,  of  strangers 
seen  at  intervals  among  the  hills  or  in  the  scattered  hamlets, 
seeming  to  observe  every  thing,  but  themselves  carefully 
avoiding  observation,  asking  many  questions,  but  answering 
none,  and  leaving  a  general  impression  on  the  minds  of  all 
who  saw  them,  that  they  were  thus  squandered,  as  it  Avere, 
through  the  lake  country,  as  spies,  probably  of  some  maraud 
ing  band,  but  certainly  with  no  good  intent.  These  indivi 
duals  bore  no  sort  of  resemblance,  it  was  said,  or  affinity  one 
to  the  other,  nor  seemed  to  have  any  league  of  community 
between  them,  yet  there  was  an  unanimous  sentiment,  where- 
ever  they  came  and  went,  which  they  ordinarily  did  in  suc 
cession,  that  they  were  all  acting  on  a  common  plan  and  with 
a  common  purpose,  however  dissimilar  might  be  their  garb, . 
their  occupation,  or  their  immediate  purpose.  And  widely 
dissimilar  these  were — for  one  of  those  suspected  was  in  ap- 


246  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

pearance  a  maimed  beggar,  displaying  the  scallop-shell  of  St. 
James  of  Compostella,  in  token  that  he  had  crossed  the  seas 
for  his  soul's  good,  and  vowing  that  he  had  lost  his  left  arm 
in  a  sanguinary  conflict  with  the  Saracens,  who  were  besieg 
ing  Jerusalem,  in  the  valley  of  Jehoshaphat ;  a  second  was  a 
dashing  pedler,  with  gay  wares  for  the  village  maidens,  and 
costlier  fabrics — lawns  from  Cyprus,  and  silks  and  embroideries 
of  Ind,  for  the  taste  of  nobler  wearers ;  another  seemed  a 
mendicant  friar,  though  of  what  order  it  was  not  by  any 
means  so  evident,  since,  his  tonsure  excepted,  his  apparel 
gave  token  of  very  little  else  than  raggedness  and  filth. 

Nearly  a  week  had  passed  thus,  when,  at  a  late  hour  in  the 
afternoon,  word  was  conveyed  to  the  castle  of  Sir  Yvo,  under 
Hawkshead,  by  the  bailiff,  in  person,  of  the  little  town  of 
Kendal,  which  lay  about  midway  between  Kentmere  and  the 
bay,  that  a  small  body  of  horse,  completely  armed,  having  at 
their  head  a  gentleman  apparently  of  rank,  had  entered  the 
town  about  mid-day,  demanded  quarters  for  the  night  for  man 
and  horse,  and  sent  out  one  or  two  unarmed  riders,  as  if  to 
survey  the  country.  In  any  part  of  England  traversed  by 
great  roads,  this  would  have  created  no  wonder  or  surmise  ; 
for  hundreds  of  such  parties  were  to  be  seen  on  the  great 
thoroughfares  every  day,  few  persons  at  that  period  journeying 
without  weapons  of  offense  and  arms  defensive,  and  gentlemen 
of  rank  being  invariably  attended  by  bodies  of  armed  retain 
ers,  which  were  indeed  rendered  indispensable  by  the  prev 
alence  of  private  feuds  and  personal  hostilities  which  were 
never  wholly  at  an  end  between  the  proud  barons,  whose 
conterminous  lands  were  constant  cause  of  unneighborly  bick 
erings  and  strife. 


THE     ARREST.  247 

In  these  wild  rural  districts,  however,  it  was  quite  different, 
where  the  roads  merely  gave  access  and  egress  to  the  country 
lying  below  the  mountains,  but  opened  no  thoroughfare  either 
for  trade  or  travel,  there  being  no  means  of  approach  from 
that  side,  even  to  Penrith  or  Carlisle,  already  towns  of  con 
siderable  magnitude,  lying  but  a  few  miles  distant  across  the 
vast  and  gloomy  fells  and  mountains,  except  by  the  blindest 
of  paths,  known  only  to  shepherds  and  outlaws,  leading 
through  tremendous  passes,  such  as  that  terrible  defile  of  Dun- 
mailraise,  famous  to  this  day  for  its  stern  and  savage  grandeur. 
Hence  it  came,  that,  unless  it  were  visitors  to  some  of  the  few 
castles  or  priories  in  the  lower  valleys,  such  as  Furness  Abbey, 
Calder  Abbey,  Lannercost  Priory,  Gleaston  Castle,  the  strong 
hold  of  the  Flemings,  Rydal,  the  splendid  manor  of  the  Rat- 
cliffes,  this  fortalice  of  De  Taillebois,  at  Hawkshead,  and  some 
strong  places  of  the  Dacres  and  Cliffords,  yet  farther  to  the 
east,  not  constituting  in  the  whole  a  dozen  within  a  circum 
ference  of  fifty  miles,  no  strangers  were  ever  seen  in  these  se 
cluded  valleys,  without  exciting  wonder,  and  something  of 
consternation. 

So  it  was  in  this  instance ;  and  so  urgent  did  it  appear  to 
Sir  Yvo,  that,  although  he  was  just  sitting  down  to  supper 
when  his  officer  arrived — for  Kendal  was  his  manorial  town, 
where  he  held  his  courts,  leet  and  baron — that  he  put  off  the 
evening  meal  an  hour,  until  he  should  have  heard  his  report, 
and  examined  into  all  the  circumstances  of  the  case. 

Then  commending  his  bailiff  for  his  discretion,  he  dismissed 
him,  with  orders  to  make  all  speed  home  again,  without  sig 
nifying  at  Kendal  whither  he  had  been,  to  give  all  heed 
and  courteous  attention  to  the  strangers,  keeping  ever  a  sharp 


248  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

eye  on  their  actions,  and  to  expect  himself  in  the  burgh  ere 
midnight. 

This  done,  he  returned  to  the  hall,  as  calm  as  if  nothing 
had  occurred  to  move  him,  though  he  was  indeed  doubly 
moved,  both  as  lord  of  the  manor  and  sheriff  of  the  country  ; 
and,  merely  whispering  to  Aradas  to  have  fifty  lances  in  the 
saddle  within  an  hour,  and  to  dispatch  a  messenger  to  have 
the  horse-boats  ready  on  the  lake,  opposite  to  Bowness,  took 
his  place  at  the  board-head,  with  his  fair  child  on  his  right, 
and  the  young  esquire  on  the  left,  and  carved  the  roe  venison 
and  moor  fowl,  and  jested  joyously,  and  quaffed  his  modicum 
of  the  pure  light  wines  of  Gascony,  as  if  he  had  nothing  on 
hand  that  night  beyond  a  walk  on  the  battlements,  before  re 
tiring.  So  soon,  however,  as  supper  was  over,  he  bade  his 
page  go  up  to  his  private  apartment,  and  bidding  Aradas  look 
sharp,  for  there  was  little  time  to  lose,  he  told  Guendolen, 
with  a  smile,  that  he  should  make  her  chatelaine  for  the 
night,  since  he  must  ride  across  the  lake  to  Kendal. 

"  To-night,  father  !"  she  exclaimed,  astonished,  "  why,  it  is 
twenty  miles ;  you  will  not  be  there  before  daybreak." 

"  Oh,  yes,  by  midnight,  girl,  if  we  spur  the  sharper  ;  and  it 
is  partly  on  your  business  that  I  go,  too,  child ;  for  I  fancy 
there  is  something  afoot,  that  bodes  no  good  to  your  friend 
Kenric  ;  but  we  '11  nip  it  in  the  bud,  we  '11  nip  it  in  the  bud, 
by  St.  Agatha !" 

"  Ah  !"  said  the  girl,  turning  pale,  "  there  will  be  danger, 
then—" 

"Danger!"  said  the  old  knight,  looking  at  her  sharply, 
"  danger,  not  a  whit  of  it !  It  is  but  that  villain  d'Oilly,  with 
a  score  of  spears  of  Sherwood.  I  must  take  fifty  lances  with 


THE     ARREST.  249 

me,  for,  as  sheriff,  I  must  keep  peace  without  spear-breaking ; 
were  it  not  for  that,  I  would  meet  him  spear  to  spear ;  and  he 
should  reckon  with  me,  too,  for  poor  Sir  Philip,  ere  we  parted, 
*as  he  shall  do  yet,  one  day,  although  I  see  not  how  to  force 
him  to  it.  So  now,  kiss  me,  silly  minion,  and  to  bed  with 
you  while  I  go  arm  me." 

And  the  stout  old  warrior  strode  up  to  his  cabinet,  whence 
he  descended  in  half  an  hour,  armed  cap-a-pie  in  chain  mail, 
plate  armor  not  having  yet  come  into  use,  with  his  flat-topped 
casque  on  his  head,  his  heater-shaped  shield  hung  about  his 
neck,  and  his  huge,  two-handed  sword  crossing  his  whole  per 
son,  its  cross-hilt  appearing  above  his  left  shoulder,  and  its  tip 
clashing  against  the  spur  on  his  right  heel.  As  he  entered 
the  court  of  the  castle,  his  men  were  all  in  their  saddles,  sit 
ting  firm  as  pillars  of  steel,  each  with  his  long  lance  secured 
by  its  sling  and  the  socket  attached  to  the  stirrup,  bearing  a 
tall  waxen  torch  in  his  right  hand,  making  their  mail-coats 
flash  and  twinkle  in  the  clear  light,  as  if  they  were  compact 
of  diamonds.  Aradas  was  alone  dismounted,  holding  the 
stirrup  for  his  lord  until  he  had  mounted,  when  he  sprang, 
all  armed  as  he  was,  into  the  saddle.  The  banner-man  at 
once  displayed  the  square  banner  of  his  lord,  the  trumpeter 
made  the  old  ramparts  ring  with  the  old  gathering  blast  of 
the  house  of  De  Taillebois,  and,  two  and  two,  the  glittering 
men-at-arms,  defiled  through  the  castle  gate,  and  wound  down 
the  steep  hill  side,  long  to  be  traced  from  the  battlements, 
now  seen,  now  lost  among  the  woods  and  coppices,  a  line  of 
sinuous  light,  creeping,  like  a  huge  glow-worm,  over  the  dark 
champaign. 

Before  they  reached  the  lake  shore,  however,  the  moon 
11* 


250  S  II  E  K  W  O  O  D     F  O  R  E  S  T . 

rose,  round  and  red,  from  behind  the  Yorkshire  fells  ;  and,  ex 
tinguishing  their  flambeaux,  they  pricked  rapidly  forward 
through  the  country,  which,  intricate  as  it  was,  soon  became 
as  light  as  at  noonday. 

On  the  other  side  of  the  lake,  circumstances  of  a  very  dif 
ferent  nature,  though  arising  from  the  same  causes,  were  oc 
curring.  Early  in  the  afternoon,  while  Kenric  was  absent  on 
his  rounds,  a  single  rider,  plainly  clad,  and  unarmed,  except 
his  sword,  made  his  appearance,  riding  up  the  valley  from 
the  direction  of  Kendal,  and  soon  pulling  up  at  the  cottage, 
inquired  the  road  to  Rydal.  Then,  on  being  informed  that 
there  was  no  pass  through  the  hills  in  that  direction,  and  that 
he  ought  to  have  turned  off  to  the  eastward,  through  a  gap 
five  miles  below,  he  asked  permission  to  dismount  and  rest 
himself  and  his  horse  awhile,  a  favor  which  Edith  readily  con 
ceded.  Oat  cakes  and  cheese,  then,  as  now,  the  peculiar 
dainties  of  the  dalesmen,  with  home-brewed  mead,  were  set 
before  him,  his  horse  was  fed,  and  every  act  of  hospitality 
which  could  be  done  to  the  most  honored  guest  was  extended 
to  him. 

He  observed  every  thing,  noted  every  thing,  especially  the 
crossbow  which  Eadwulf  had  brought  with  him  on  his  late 
inopportune  arrival,  learned  the  name  and  station  of  his 
entertainer,  and  how  he  was  the  tenant  of  the  Lord  of  Hawks- 
head,  Yewdale,  Coniston,  and  Kentmere,  and  verdurer  of  the 
forest  in  which  he  dwelt ;  and  then,  offering  money,  which 
was  refused,  mounted  his  horse,  and  rode  back  toward  Kendal 
more  rapidly  then  he  came. 

So  soon  as  Kenric  returned  from  his  rounds,  he  was  in 
formed  of  all  that  had  passed,  when,  simply  observing,  "  Ha  ! 


THE     ARREST.  251 

it  has  come  already,  has  it  ?  I  scarce  expected  it  so  soon," 
he  bade  one  of  the  boys  get  the  pony  ready,  and  prepare  him 
self  to  go  round  the  lake  to  the  castle,  and  then  sat  down 
with  his  wife  to  the  evening  meal,  which  she  had  prepared 
for  him. 

When  they  were  alone,  "  Now,  Edith,  my  dear,"  he  said, 
"  the  time  has  come  for  which  we  have  been  so  long  waiting. 
I  know  for  certain  that  Sir  Foulke  d'Oilly  is  in  Kendal,  and 
our  good  lord  will  know  it  likewise  before  this  time.  There 
fore  there  is  no  danger  that  will  not  be  prevented  almost 
before  it  is  begun.  That  I  shall  be  taken,  either  by  violence 
or  by  legal  arrest,  this  night,  is  certain — though  I  think  prob 
ably  by  violence,  since  no  true  caption  may  be  made  after 
sunset." 

"Then,  why  not  escape  at  once?"  asked  his  fair  wife, 
opening  her  great  blue  eyes  wider  than  their  wont.  "  Why 
not  go  straight  to  the  castle,  and  place  yourself  in  my  lord's 
safeguard?" 

"  For  two  reasons,  wife  of  mine,  each  in  itself  sufficient. 
First,  this  is  my  post,  and  I  must  hold  it,  until  removed  or 
forced  from  it.  Second,  my  lord  deems  it  best  I  should  be 
taken  now,  and  the  matter  ended.  But  this  applies  not  to  you 
or  my  mother.  The  Normans  must  find  neither  of  you  here ; 
no  woman,  young  or  old,  is  safe  where  Foulke  d'Oilly's  men  are 
about.  You  must  wrap  the  old  woman  as  warm  as  you  may, 
and  have  her  oft'  on  the  pony  to  Ambleside  as  quickly  as  may 
be.  Ralph  shall  go  with  you.  I  am  on  thorns  and  nettles 
until  you  are  gone." 

"  I  will  never  leave  you,  Kenric.  It  is  useless  to  speak  of 
it— never !" 


252  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

"  Oh  !  yes,  you  will,  Edith,"  he  answered,  quietly.  "  Oh  !  yes, 
you  will,  for  half  a  dozen  reasons ;  though  one  is  enough,  for  that 
matter.  First,  you  will  not  see  my  mother  dead  through  your 
obstinacy.  Second,  you  will  not  stay  to  be  outraged  yourself, 
before  my  very  eyes,  without  my  having  power  to  aid  you — " 

"  Kenric !" 

"  It  is  mere  truth,  Edith.  Thirdly,  it  is  your  duty  to  go ; 
and  last,  it  is  my  will  that  you  go,  and  I  never  knew  you  re 
fuse  that." 

"Nor  ever  will,  Kenric;  though  it  break  my  heart  to 
do  it." 

"  Tush !  tush  !  girl ;  hearts  are  tough  things,  and  do  not 
break  so  easily;  and  when  you  kiss  me  to-morrow  at  the 
castle,  you  '11  think  of  this  no  more.  See,  here 's  the  boy  with 
the  pony  and  the  pillion.  Now,  hurry,  and  coax  my  mother 
out,  and  get  on  your  cloak  and  wimple,  that 's  a  good  lass.  I 
would  not  have  you  here  when  Foulke  d'Oilly's  riders  come, 
no  !  not  to  be  the  Lord  of  Kentmere.  Hurry  !  hurry  !" 

Many  minutes  had  not  passed,  before,  after  a  long  embrace, 
and  a  flood  of  tears  on  the  part  of  Edith,  the  two  women 
mounted  on  the  sturdy  pony,  the  wife  in  the  saddle,  and  the 
aged  mother  seated  on  a  sort  of  high-backed  pillion — made 
like  the  seat  of  an  arm-chair — and  secured  by  a  broad  belt 
to  the  waist  of  her  daughter,  took  their  way  across  the 
wooded  hills  toward  Ambleside,  the  boy  Ralph  leading  the 
animal  by  the  head,  and  two  brace  of  noble  alans,  his  master's 
property,  which  Kenric  did  not  choose  to  expose  to  the 
cupidity  of  his  expected  captors,  gamboling  in  front,  or  fol 
lowing  gravely  at  heel,  according  to  their  various  qualities  of 
age  and  temper. 


THE     ARREST.  253 

The  son  and  husband  gazed  after  them  wistfully,  so  long  as 
they  remained  in  sight ;  and  when,  as  they  crossed  the  last 
ridge  of  the  low  intermediate  hills  which  divide  the  narrow 
glen  of  the  upper  Kent  from  the  broader  dale  of  Windermere, 
standing  out  in  bold  relief  against  the  strong  light  of  the 
western  sky,  Edith  waved  her  kerchief,  he  drew  his  hard 
hand  across  his  brow,  turned  into  his  desolate  dwelling,  and, 
sitting  down  by  the  hearth,  was  soon  lost  in  gloomy  medi 
tation. 

Darkness  soon  fell  over  lake  and  meadow,  mountain  and 
upland.  Hundreds  of  stars  were  twinkling  in  the  clear  sky, 
to  which  a  touch  of  frost,  not  unusual  at  this  early  season 
among  those  hill  regions,  had  lent  an  uncommon  brilliance, 
but  the  moon  had  not  yet  risen. 

Kenric  was  now  becoming  restless  and  impatient,  and,  as  is 
frequently  the  case  when  we  are  awaiting  even  the  most  pain 
ful  things,  which  we  know  to  be  inevitable,  he  soon  found 
himself  wishing  that  the  time  would  come,  that  he  might 
know  the  worst,  and  feeling  that  the  suspense  was  worse  than 
almost  any  reality. 

Several  times  he  went  to  the  door,  and  stood  gazing  down 
the  valley,  over  the  brown  woods  and  gray,  glimmering 
waters,  to  look  and  listen,  if  he  might  discover  any  signs  of 
the  coming  danger.  But  his  eyes  could  penetrate  but  a 
little  way  into  the  darkness,  and  no  sounds  came  to  his  ears, 
but  the  deep  sough  of  the  west  wind  among  the  pine  boughs 
of  the  mountain  top,  the  hoarse  ripple  of  the  brook  brawling 
against  the  boulders  which  lay  scattered  in  its  bed,  and  the 
hooting  of  the  brown  owls,  answering  each  other  from  every 
ivy-bush  and  holly-brake  on  the  wooded  hill-sides. 


254  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

Nothing  could  bo  more  calm  or  peaceful  than  the  scene, 
nothing  less  indicative  of  man's  presence,  much  more  of  his 
violence  and  angry  passions.  Not  even  the  baying  of  a 
solitary  house-dog  awoke  the  echoes,  though  oftentimes  the 
wild,  yelping  bark  of  the  fox  came  sharp  from  the  moorland, 
and  once  the  long-drawn  howl  of  a  wolf,  that  most  hideous 
and  unmistakable  of  savage  cries,  wailed  down  the  pass  like 
the  voice  of  a  spirit,  ominous  of  evil. 

The  hunter's  spirit  was  aroused  in  the  watcher  by  the 
familiar  sound.  He  listened  intently,  but  it  was  heard  no 
more,  and,  shaking  his  head,  he  muttered  to  himself,  "  He  is 
up  in  the  dark  corrie  under  Norton  pike  ;  I  noted  the  wool 
and  tones  of  lambs,  and  the  spoil  of  hares  there,  when  I  was 
last  through  it,  but  I  laid  the  scathe  to  the  foxes.  I  knew 
not  we  had  a  wolf  so  nigh  us.  Well,  if  they  trap  not  me  to 
night,  I  '11  see  and  trap  that  other  thief  to-morrow.  And 
thinking  of  that,  since  they  come  not,  I  trow  there  is  no 
courtesy  compels  me  to  sit  up  for  them,  and  there's  some 
thing  in  my  head  now  that  chimes  a  later  hour  than  vespers. 
I  '11  take  a  night-cap,  and  lay  me  down  on  the  settle.  Gil 
bert,  happy  dog,  has  been  asleep  there  on  the  hearth  these 
two  hours  ;"  and,  suiting  the  action  to  the  word,  he  drew  a 
mighty  flagon  of  mead,  quaffed  it  to  the  dregs,  and,  throwing 
a  heavy  wooden  bar  across  the  door,  wrapped  his  cloak  about 
him,  and,  casting  himself  on  a  settle  in  the  chimney  corner, 
was  soon  buried  in  deep  slumber. 

When  he  woke  again,  which  he  did  with  a  sudden  start, 
the  moon  was  shining  brightly  through  the  latticed  case 
ments,  and  there  were  sounds  on  the  air  which  he  easily 
recognized  as  the  clash  of  mail  coats  and  the  tramp  of  horses, 


THE     ARREST.  255 

coming  up  at  a  trot  over  the  stony  road.  Looking  out  from  a 
loop  beside  the  door,  he  perceived  at  once  that  the  moment 
he  expected  had  arrived.  Ten  men,  heavily  armed,  but  wear 
ing  dark-colored  surcoats  over  their  mail,  and  having  their 
helmets  cased  with  felt,  to  prevent  their  being  discovered  by 
the  glimmering  of  the  steel  in  the  moonlight,  had  ridden  up 
to  the  foot  of  the  little  knoll  on  which  the  cottage  stood,  and 
were  now  concerting  their  future  movements. 

While  he  gazed,  nine  of  the  men  dismounted,  linking  their 
horses,  and  leaving  them  in  charge  of  the  tenth.  Four  then 
filed  off  to  keep  watch,  and  prevent  escape  from  the  rear,  or 
either  end  of  the  building ;  and  then,  at  a  given  signal,  the 
others  marched  up  to  the  door,  and  the  leader  struck  heavily 
on  the  pannel  with  the  haft  of  a  heavy  battle-ax,  crying, 
"  Open  !  on  pain  of  death !  open  !" 

"  To  whom  ?  What  seek  you  ?"  asked  Kenric,  whose  hand 
was  on  the  bar. 

"  To  me,  Foulke  d'Oilly.  I  seek  my  fugitive  villeyn,  Ead- 
wulf  the  Red.  We  have  traced  him  hither.  Open,  on  your 
peril,  or  take  the  consequence." 

"  The  man  is  not  here ;  natheless,  I  open,"  replied  Kenric  ; 
and,  with  the  word,  he  threw  open  the  door  ;  and  the  men-at- 
arms  rushed  in,  brandishing  their  axes,  as  if  they  expected 
resistance.  But  the  Saxon  stood  firm,  tranquil,  and  im 
passive,  on  his  hearthstone,  and  gave  no  pretext  for  violence. 

"  And  who  may  you  be,  sirrah,"  cried  the  leader,  checking 
the  rudeness  of  his  vassals  for  the  moment,  "  who  brave  us 
thus  ?" 

"  Far  be  it  from  me,"  said  he,  "  to  brave  a  nobleman.  I 
am  a  free  Saxon  man,  Kenric,  the  son  of  Werewulf,  tenant  in 


256  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

fee  to  my  Lord  of  Taillebois,  and  his  verdurer  and  forester  for 
this  his  manor  of  Kentmere." 

"Thou  liest,"  said  one  of  the  men-at-arms.  "Thou  art 
Eadwulf  the  Red,  born  thrall  of  Sir  Philip  de  Morville,  on  his 
manor  of  Waltheofstow,  and  now  of  Sir  Foulke  d'Oilly,  who 
has  succeeded  to  the  same." 

"  Thou  liest !"  replied  Kenric,  stoutly.  "  And  I  will  prove 
it  on  thy  body,  with  permission  of  Sir  Foulke  d'Oilly,  with 
quarterstaff  or  gisarme,  battleax  or  broadsword." 

"  Art  sure  this  is  he,  Damian  ?  Canst  swear  to  the  man  ? 
Is  there  any  other  here,  who  knows  the  features  of  the  fellow 
Eadwulf,  to  witness  them  on  oath  ?  Light  yonder  cresset 
from  the  embers  on  the  hearth  ;  advance  it  to  his  face  !  Now, 
can  you  swear  to  him  ?" 

The  torch  was  thrust  so  rudely  and  so  closely  into  his  face, 
that  it  actually  singed  his  beard ;  yet  he  started  not,  nor 
flinched  a  hair's  breadth. 

"  I  can,"  said  the  man  who  had  first  spoken,  stubbornly. 
"  That  is  Eadwulf  the  Red.  I  have  seen  him  fifty  times  in 
the  late  Sir  Philip's  lifetime  ;  and  last,  the  day  before  he  fled 
and  slew  your  bailiff  of  Waltheofstow  in  the  forest  between 
Thurgoland  and  Bolterstone,  in  September.  I  will  swear  to 
him,  as  I  live  by  bread,  and  hope  to  see  Paradise." 

"  And  I,"  exclaimed  another  of  the  men,  after  examining 
his  features,  whether  deceived  by  the  real  similitude  between 
them  and  his  brother,  which  did  amount  to  a  strong  family 
likeness,  though  the  color  of  the  hair  and  the  expression  of 
the  two  men  were  wholly  dissimilar,  or  only  desirous  of  grati 
fying  his  leader.  "  I  know  him  as  well  as  I  do  my  own 
brother.  I  will  swear  to  him  anv  where." 


THE     ARREST.  25  7 

"  You  would  both  swear  falsely,"  said  Kenric,  coolly. 
"  Eadwulf  is  my  brother,  son  of  Werewulf,  son  of  Beowulf, 
once  henchman  to  Waltheof,  of  Waltheofstow,  and  a  free 
Saxon  man  before  the  Conquest." 

"  I  will  swear  to  him,  also,"  cried  a  third  man,  who  had 
snatched  down  the  fatal  crossbow  and  bolts  from  above  the 
chimney.  "  Kenric  and  Eadwulf  are  but  two  names  for  one 
man  ;  and  here  is  the  proof.  This  crossbow,  with  the  name 
Kenric  burned  into  the  stock,  is  that  which  Eadwulf  carried 
on  the  day  when  he  fled  ;  and  these  quarrels  tally,  point  for 
point,  with  those  which  were  found  in  the  carcass  of  the  deer 
he  slew,  and  in  the  body  of  the  bailiff  he  murdered  !" 

"  Ha  !     What  say  you  to  that,  sirrah  ]" 

"  That  it  is  my  crossbow ;  that  my  name  is  Kenric,  by- 
named  the  Dark  ;  that  I  am,  as  I  said  before,  a  free  Saxon, 
and  have  dwelt  here  on  Kentmere  since  the  last  days  of  July ; 
so  that  I  could  have  slain  neither  deer  nor  bailiff,  between 
Thurgoland  and  Bolterstone,  in  September.  That  is  all  I  have 
to  say,  Sir  Foulke." 

"  And  that  is  nothing,"  he  replied.  u  So  thou  must  go 
along  with  us.  Wilt  go  peaceably,  too,  if  thou  art  wise,  and 
cravest  no  broken  bones." 

"  Have  you  a  writ  of  Neifty*  for  me,  Sir  Foulke  ?"  asked 
Kenric,  respectfully,  having  been  instructed  by  Sir  Yvo. 

"  Tush  !  dog,  what  knowest  thou  of  Neifty  ?  No,  sirrah, 
I  seize  mine  villeyn,  of  mine  own  right,  with  mine  own  hand. 
What  sayst  to  that  ?" 

"That  you  must  seize  me,  to  seize  justly,  by  the  sheriff; 
and  I  deny  the  villeynage,  and  claim  trial." 

*  De  Nativo  Habendo.— Howell's  State  Trials,  38,  note. 


258  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

"  And  I  send  you,  and  your  denial,  and  your  Neifty,  to  the 
fiend  who  hatched  them.  You  are  my  slave,  my  born  slave ; 
and  in  my  dungeons  of  Waltheofstow  will  I  prove  it  to  you. 
Hugo,  Raoul,  Damian,  seize  him,  handcuff  his  wrists  behind 
him,  drag  him  along  if  he  resist." 

"  I  resist  not,"  said  Kenric.  "  I  yield  to  force,  as  I  hold 
you  all  to  witness ;  you  above  all,  Gilbert,"  addressing  the 
boy  who  stood  staring,  half-awake,  while  they  were  manacling 
his  hands.  "  But  I  pray  you,  Sir  Foulke,  to  take  notice  that 
in  this  you  do  great  wrong  to  my  good  lord,  Sir  Yvo  de  Taille- 
bois,  both  that  he  is  the  Lord  of  Hawkshead,  Coniston,  and 
Yewdale,  and  of  this  manor  of  Kentmere  on  which  you  now 
trespass,  and  that  he  is  the  sheriff  of  these  counties  of  Lan 
caster  and  Westmoreland,  where  you  wrongfully  seize  juris 
diction.  And  this  I  notify  you,  that  he  will  seek  the  right  at 
your  hands,  and  that  speedily." 

"  Dog !  Saxon !  slave  !  dirt  of  the  earth  !  do  you  dare 
threaten  me  ?"  cried  the  fierce  baron,  purposely  lashing  him 
self  into  fury ;  and  he  strode  up  to  the  helpless  man,  whose 
arms  were  secured  behind  his  back,  and  smote  him  in  the 
mouth  with  his  gauntleted-hand,  that  the  blood  gushed  from 
his  lips,  and  streamed  over  all  the  front  of  his  leathern  hunt 
ing-shirt. 

"  That,  to  teach  thee  manners.  Now,  then,  bring  him 
along,  men ;  set  him  on  the  black  gelding,  chain  his  legs  fast 
under  the  brute's  belly,  ride  one  of  you  at  each  side,  and  dash 
his  brains  out  with  your  axes  if  he  look  like  escaping.  Away ! 
away  !  I  would  be  at  Kendal  before  they  ring  the  prime,* 

*  Prime  was  the  first  service,  and  began  the  instant  midnight  had 
sounded. 


THE     ARREST.  259 

and  at  Lonsdale  before  matins.*     So  shall  we  be  well  among 
the  Yorkshire  fells  before  daybreak." 

His  words  were  obeyed  without  demur  or  delay,  and  within 
five  minutes  the  Saxon  was  chained  on  the  back  of  a  vicious, 
ill-conditioned  brute,  with  a  savage  ruffian  on  either  side, 
glaring  at  him  through  the  bars  of  their  visors,  as  if  they  de 
sired  no  better  than  a  chance  to  brain  him,  in  obedience  with 
orders ;  and  the  whole  party,  their  horses  being  quite  fresh, 
were  thundering  down  the  dale  at  a  pace  that  would  bring 
them  to  Kendal  long  enough  before  midnight. 

*  Matins  was  the  second  service,  at  3  A.  M. 


CHAPTER    XXII. 


THE     SHERIFF. 


"The  Sheriff,  with  a  monstrous  watch,  is  at  the  door." 

KING  HEKRY  IV. 


Two  hours'  hard  riding,  considering  that  the  riders  were 
men  armed  in  heavy  mail,  brought  the  party  into  the  narrow, 
ill-paved  streets  of  Kendal,  at  least  two  hours  earlier  than  the 
time  specified  by  Sir  Foulke  d'Oilly,  and  it  was  not  above  ten 
o'clock  of  the  night  when  they  pulled  up  before  a  long,  low, 
thatched  cabin,  above  the  door  of  which,  a  bush  and  a  bottle, 
suspended  from  a  pole,  gave  note  that  it  was  a  house  of  en 
tertainment.  Flinging  his  rein  to  one  of  half-a-dozen  grooms 
and  horse-boys,  who  were  lounging  about  the  gate,  the  knight 
raised  the  latch,  and  entered  a  long,  smoky  apartment,  which 
seemed  to  occupy  the  whole  ground  floor  of  the  building, 
affording  room  for  the  accommodation  of  fifty  or  sixty  guests, 
on  occasion  of  feasts,  fairs,  or  holidays. 

It  was  an  area  of  thirty  or  forty  feet  in  length,  by  ten  or 
twelve  in  width,  with  bare  rough-cast  walls,  and  bare  rafters 
overhead,  blackened  by  the  smoke  which  escaped  from  the  ill- 
constructed  chimneys  at  either  end,  and  eddied  overhead  in  a 
perennial  canopy  of  sable.  The  floor,  however,  was  strewed 


THE     SHERIFF.  261 

with  fresh  green  rushes,  green  wreaths  and  branches  were  hung 
on  the  rough-cast  walls,  and  a  large  earthen-vase  or  two  of 
water-lilies  and  other  showy  wild-flowers  adorned  the  board, 
which  was  covered  with  clean  white  napery  of  domestic  fabric. 
At  the  upper  end  of  this  long  table,  half-a-dozen  or  eight  men 
were  supping  on  a  chine  of  hill-kid,  with  roasted  moor-fowl 
and  wild-ducks,  the  landlord  of  the  tavern  being  the  bailiff  of 
the  town,  and  having  his  lord's  license  to  take  all  small  game, 
save  bustard,  heron,  woodcock,  and  pheasant,  for  the  benefit 
of  his  guest-table. 

On  the  entrance  of  Sir  Foulke,  these  men  rose  to  their  feet ; 
and  one,  the  best-armed  and  best-looking  of  the  party,  seem 
ing  to  be  a  second  esquire  or  equerry,  asked  him,  in  a  subdued 
voice — 

"  What  fortune,  Sir  Foulke  ;  have  you  got  the  villeyn  ?" 

"  Safe  enough,  Fitz  Hugh,"  replied  the  knight ;  "  but  he  is 
no  mere  brute,  as  you  fellows  told  me,  but  a  perilous,  shrewd, 
intelligent,  clear-headed  Saxon.  He  has  been  advised,  too,  in 
this  matter,  by  some  one  well-skilled  in  the  law,  and  was,  I 
think,  expecting  our  coming.  I  should  not  marvel  much,  if 
De  Taillebois  have  notice  of  us.  We  must  be  in  the  saddle 
again  as  soon  as  possible.  But  I  must  have  a  morsel  ere  we 
start ;  I  have  not  tasted  aught  since  high-noon,  and  then  it 
was  but  a  beggarly  oat-cake  and  a  flask  of  mead.  What  have 
you  there  ?" 

"  Some  right  good  treble  ale,  beausire ;  let  me  fill  you  a 
tankard,  and  play  cup-bearer  for  once."  And,  suiting  the  ac 
tion  to  the  word,  he  filled  out  a  mighty  horn  of  the  liquid 
amber,  capped  "with  its  snowy  foam,  and  handed  it  to  the 
knight,  adding,  "  The  supper  is  but  fp^ments,  but  there  is 


262  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

more  at  the  fire  now.  I  will  go  to  the  stables,  and  see  the 
fresh  horses  saddled  and  caparisoned  ;  and  as  I  pass  the  but 
tery  and  tap,  I  will  stir  up  the  loitering  knaves." 

"  Do  so,  Fitz  Hugh,"  replied  the  other ;  "  but  hasten,  Jesu 
Maria !  hasten !  I  reckon  but  half  done  until  we  are  out  of 
this  beggarly  hole,  and  under  way  for  merry  Yorkshire.  And 
hark  you,  Fitz  Hugh,  let  them  bring  in  the  prisoner.  "We 
must  have  him  along  with  us ;  and  ten  of  the  best  men, 
lightly  armed,  and  mounted  on  the  pick  of  our  stud.  Ten 
more  may  tarry  with  the  tired  beasts  we  have  just  used,  and 
bring  them  on  with  the  baggage  and  suinpter  horses  to 
morrow." 

Then,  as  his  officer  left  the  hall  to  attend  to  his  multifarious 
duties,  he  quaffed  another  huge  flagon  of  the  strong,  heady 
ale ;  and,  casting  himself  into  a  settle  in  the  chimney-corner, 
what  between  the  warmth  of  the  fire,  grateful  after  his  hard 
ride  in  the  chilly  night  air,  and  the  fumes  of  the  heady  tank 
ard,  he  sunk  into  a  doze,  from  which  he  only  aroused  himself, 
when,  half  an  hour  afterward,  in  came  a  dozen  clumsy  village 
servants,  stamping  and  clattering  in  their  heavy-clouted  shoes, 
and  loaded  the  table  with  smoking  platters  and  huge  joints, 
of  which,  however  coarse  the  cookery,  the  odors  were  any 
thing  but  unsavory. 

To  supper  accordingly  he  now  applied  himself,  two  or 
three  of  the  men  who  had  been  with  him  at  the  seizure  of 
Kenric,  crowding  into  the  room  and  taking  the  lower  end  of 
the  table,  where  another  great  fire  was  blazing,  and  others 
coming  in  and  out  in  succession,  until  all  were  satisfied. 

It  is,  however,  remarkable,  as  in  character  with  the  sensual, 
self-indulgent,  ond  unrestrained  temperament  of  this  most  un- 


THE     SHERIFF.  263 

worthy  and  unknightly  Norman,  his  race  being,  of  all  the 
northern  tribes,  that  least  addicted  to  gluttony  and  drunken 
ness,  and  priding  itself  on  moderation  and  decorum  at  the 
table,  that,  notwithstanding  his  earnest  desire  to  depart  from 
his  somewhat  perilous  situation,  he  yet  yielded  to  his  appe 
tites,  and  lingered  over  the  board,  though  it  offered  nothing 
beyond  coarse  viands  and  strong  ale,  long  after  the  horses 
were  announced  to  be  in  readiness. 

At  length  he  rose,  washed  his  hands,  and  calling  his  page 
to  replace  such  portions  of  his  armor  as  he  had  laid  aside, 
was  preparing  to  move  in  earnest,  when  the  well-known  clash 
of  mail-coats  and  the  thick  trampling  of  a  numerous  squad 
ron  coming  up  the  village  street  gave  notice  that  he  was 
surprised. 

The  next  moment,  a  man-at-arms  rushed  into  the  room, 
with  dismay  in  his  face. 

"  Lances,  my  Lord  of  d'Oilly,"  he  cried ;  "  lances  and  a 
broad  banner !  There  are  full  fifty  of  them  coming  up  the 
street  from  the  northward,  and  some  of  the  grooms  who  were 
on  the  out-look  report  more  spears  to  the  south.  We  are 
surrounded." 

"  Call  in  the  men  hither  from  the  stables,  then  ;  let  them 
cut  short  their  lances  to  six  feet,  and  bring  their  maces  and 
battle-axes ;  we  can  make  a  stout  stand  here,  and  command 
good  terms  at  the  worst." 

Time,  however,  was  short,  and  his  orders  were  but  partially 
obeyed,  the  men  coming  in  by  twos  and  threes  from  the 
stables  in  the  rear,  looking  gloomy  and  dispirited,  when  a 
trumpet  was  blown  clearly  without,  and,  the  cavalcade  halting, 


264  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

in  mass,  in  front  of  the  hostelry,  a  fine  deep  voice  was  heard 
to  cry ; 

"  What  men  be  these  ?  Who  dare  lift  spears,  or  display 
banners,  in  my  town  of  Kendal,  without  license  of  me  ?" 

"  It  is  De  Taillebois,"  said  D'Oilly ;  "  it  avails  nothing  to 
resist.  Throw  the  doors  open." 

But,  as  he  spoke,  the  reply  of  his  lieutenant  was  heard  to 
the  summons ; 

"  We  be  Sir  Foulke  d'Oilly's  men,  and  we  dare  lift  spear 
and  display  banner,  wheresoever  our  lord  order  us." 

"  Well  said,  good  fellow  !"  answered  the  powerful  voice  of 
the  old  knight.  "  Go  in,  therefore,  and  tell  your  lord  that 
the  Sheriff  of  Lancaster  is  at  the  door,  with  fifty  lances,  to 
inforce  the  king's  peace ;  and  that  he  draw  in  his  men  at 
once,  or  ere  worse  come  of  it,  and  show  cause  what  he  makes 
here,  in  effeir  of  war,  in  my  manor  of  Kendal,  and  the  king's 
county  of  Westmoreland." 

D'Oilly  set  his  teeth  hard,  and  smote  the  table  with  his 
gauntleted  hand.  "  Curses  on  him,"  he  muttered,  "  he  hath 
me  at  advantage."  Then,  as  he  received  the  summons,  "  Pray 
the  Lord  of  Taillebois,"  he  said  ;  "  he  will  have  the  courtesy 
to  set  foot  to  ground,  and  enter  in  hither,  that  we  hold  con 
ference." 

Again  the  voice  was  heard  without,  "  Ride  to  the  bridge, 
Huon,  at  the  town  end,  and  call  me  Aradas." 

There  was  a  short  pause,  and  then,  as  the  gallop  of  a  horse 
was  heard  coming  up  to  the  house,  the  orders  were  given  to 
dismount,  link  bridles,  and  close  up  to  the  doors ;  and  at  the 
next  instant,  Sir  Yvo  entered,  stooping  his  tall  crest  to  pass 
the  low-browed  door,  followed  by  his  trusty  squire,  Aradas  do 


THE     SHERIFF.  265 

Ratcliffe,  and  half-a-dozen  others  of  his  principal  retainers, 
one  or  two  of  them  wearing  knightly  crests  upon  their  bur- 
gonets. 

The  first  words  the  knight  uttered,  as  he  raised  his  avan- 
taille  and  gazed  about  him,  were  "  St.  Agatha,  how  hot  it  is, 
and  what  a  reek  of  peat-smoke  and  ale  !  Open  those  win 
dows,  some  of  you,  to  the  street,  and  let  us  have  a  breath  of 
heaven's  fresh  air.  The  Lord,  he  knows  we  need  it." 

In  a  moment,  the  thick-wooden  shutters  and  lattices,  which 
had  been  closed  by  those  within  on  the  first  alarm  of  his 
coming,  were  cast  wide  open,  and  the  spaces  were  filled  at 
once  by  the  stalwart  forms  and  resolute  faces  of  the  men-at- 
arms  of  De  Taillebois,  in  such  numbers  as  to  render  treachery 
impossible,  if  it  had  been  intended. 

Then,  for  the  first  time,  did  Sir  Yvo  turn  his  eyes  toward 
the  intruder,  who  stood  at  the  farther  end  of  the  hall,  irreso 
lute  how  to  act,  with  his  men  clustered  in  a  sullen  group  be 
hind  him,  and  the  prisoner  Kenric  held  firmly  by  the  shoulders 
by  two  stout  troopers. 

"  Ha  !  Sir  Foulke  d'Oilly,"  he  said,  with  a  slight  inclination 
of  his  head.  "  To  what  do  I  owe  the  honor  of  receiving  that 
noble  baron  in  my  poor  manor  of  Kendal ;  and  wherefore,  if 
he  come  in  courtesy  and  peace,  do  I  not  meet  him  rather  in 
my  own  castle  of  Hawkshead,  where  I  might  show  him  fitting 
courtesy,  than  in  this  smoky  den,  fitter  for  Saxon  churls  than 
Norman  nobles  ?" 

"  To  be  brief,  my  lord,"  replied  d'Oilly,  with  a  voice  half 
conciliatory,  half  defiant,  "  I  came  neither  in  enmity,  nor  yet 
in  courtesy,  but  to  reclaim  and  seize  my  fugitive  villeyn  yon 
der,  Eadwulf  the  Red,  who  hath  not  only  killed  deer  in  my 


266  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

chase  of  Fenton  in  the  Forest,  but  hath  murdered  my  bailiff 
of  Waltheofstow,  and  now  hath  fled  from  me,  against  my  will ; 
and  I  find  him  here,  hidden  in  an  out  corner  of  this  your 
manor  of  Kentmere,  in  Kendal." 

"  There  is  some  error  here,  Sir  Foulke,"  said  De  Taillebois, 
firmly.  "  That  man,  whom  I  see  some  one  hath  brutally 
misused,  of  which  more  anon,  is  not  called  Eadwulf  at  all,  but 
Kenric.  Nor  is  he  your  serf,  fair  sir,  nor  any  man's  serf  at 
all,  or  villeyn,  but  a  free  Englishman,  as  any  who  stands  on 
this  floor.  I  myself  purchased  and  manumitted  him  in  this 
July  last  past,  for  that  he  saved  the  life  of  my  child,  the  Lady 
Guendolen,  at  risk  of  his  own.  Of  this  I  pledge  my  honor, 
as  belted  knight  and  Norman  noble." 

"  I  know  the  fellow  very  well,  Sir  Yvo,"  answered  the  other, 
doggedly.  "  Four  or  five  of  my  men  here  can  swear  to  the 
knave  ;  and  we  have  proof  positive  that  he  is  the  man  who 
shot  a  deer  about  daybreak,  and  murdered  my  bailiff  on  the 
thirteenth  day  of  September  last,  in  my  forest  between  the 
meres  of  Thurgoland  and  Bolterstone,  in  Sherwood." 

"  The  thirteenth  day  of  last  September  ?"  said  De  Taillebois, 
thoughtfully.  "  Ha  !  Aradas,  Fitz  Adhelm,  was 't  not  on  that 
day  we  ran  the  big  mouse-colored  hart  royal,  with  the  black 
talbots,  from  high  Yewdale,  past  Grisdale  pike,  to  the  skirts 
ofSkiddaw?" 

"  Surely  it  was,  Sir  Yvo,"  answered  both  the  gentlemen  in 
a  breath. 

"  There  is  some  error  here,  Sir  Foulke,"  repeated  the 
Sheriff,  "but  the  law  will  decide  it.  And  now,  speaking  of 
the  law,  Sir  Baron,  may  I  crave,  by  what  right,  or  form  of 
law,  you  have  laid  hands  on  this  man,  within  the  jurisdiction 


THE   SHERIFF.  267 

of  my  manor,  and  under  the  shadow  of  night  1     I  say,  by 
what  warrant  have  you  done  this  ?" 

"By  the  same  right,  and  form,  and  warrant,  by  which, 
wherever  I  find  my  stolen  goods,  there  I  seize  them  !  By  the 
best  law  of  right ;  that  is,  the  law  of  might." 

"  The  law  of  might  has  failed  you,  for  this  time,  Sir 
Foulke." 

"  That  is  to  say,  you  being  stronger,  at  this  present  time, 
than  I,  will  not  allow  me  to  carry  off  my  villeyn,  whom  I  have 
justly  seized." 

"  Whom  you  have  most  unjustly,  most  illegally,  seized,  Sir 
Foulke.  You  know,  as  well  as  I,  or  ought  to  know,  that  if 
you  proceed  by  seizure,  it  must  be  upon  oath ;  and  none  can 
seize  within  this  shire,  but  I,  the  sheriff  of  it.  Or  if  you  pro 
ceed  by  writ  de  nativo  habendo,  no  one  can  serve  that  writ, 
within  this  shire,  but  I,  the  sheriff  of  it.  What !  when  a  man 
can  not  seize  and  sell  an  ox  or  an  ass,  that  is  claimed  by 
another,  without  due  process  of  law,  shall  he  seize  and  take, 
that  which  is  the  dearest  thing  any  man  hath,  even  as  dear  as 
the  breath  of  his  nostrils,  his  right  to  himself,  his  liberty, 
without  any  form  at  all  ?  Xo,  Sir  Foulke,  no  !  Our  English 
law  presumes  every  man  free,  till  he  be  proved  a  slave ;  and 
no  man,  who  claims  freedom,  can  be  deprived  of  freedom,  no, 
not  by  my  lord  the  King  himself  in  counsel,  except  upon  the 
verdict  of  an  English  jury.  But  do  I  understand  aright? 
Does  this  man  Eadwulf,  or  Kenric,  claim  to  be  free,  or  confess 
himself  to  be  a  villeyn  ?" 

"  I  claim  to  be  a  freeman,  Sir  Yvo  ;  and  I  demand  liberty 
to  prove  it,"  cried  Kenric.  "  I  warned  Sir  Foulke  cVOilly, 
when  he  seized  me  in  my  cottage  by  Kentmere,  as  I  can  prove 


268  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

by  the  boy  Gilbert,  that  I  am  a  freeman,  and  that  were  I  a 
villeyn  and  a  fugitive,  to  make  a  true  seizure,  it  must  be  made 
by  the  sheriff." 

"  Ha !  thou  didst — didst  thou.  Thou  art  learned  in  the 
law,  it  seems." 

"  It  behooves  an  Englishman,  beausire,  to  know  the  law  by 
which  to  guard  his  liberty,  seeing  that  it  is  the  dearest  thing 
he  hath,  under  Heaven.  But  I  am  not  learned ;  only  I  had 
good  advice." 

"  So  it  seems.  And  you  deny  to  be  a  villeyn,  and  claim  to 
prove  your  liberty  ?" 

"  Before  God,  I  do,  and  your  worship." 

"  Summon  my  bailiff,  Aradas ;  he  is  a  justice  of  peace  for 
the  county,  and  will  tell  us  what  is  needed.  I  will  give  you 
this  benefit,  Sir  Foulke,  though  you  are  in  no  wise  entitled  to 
it.  Because  it  is  on  my  own  ground,  and  on  the  person  of 
my  own  man,  you  have  made  this  seizure,  I  will  allow  it  to 
stand  good,  as  if  made  legally,  in  due  form.  Had  it  been 
made  elsewhere,  within  the  county,  I  would  have  held  it  null, 
and  committed  you  for  false  imprisonment,  and  breach  of  the 
King's  peace.  But  no  man  shall  say  I  avenge  my  own  private 
griefs  by  power  of  my  office.  Now,  bailiff,  art  thou  there  ?" 

"  So  please  you,  Sir  Yvo,  I  have  been  here  all  the  evening, 
and  am  possessed  of  the  whole  case." 

"  Well,  then,  what  needs  this  man  Kenric  ?" 

"A  writ,  my  lord,  de  libertate  probanda.  I  have  it  here, 
ready." 

"  Recite  it  to  us  then,  in  God's  name,  and  make  service  of 
it ;  for  I  am  waxing  weary  of  this  matter." 

Thus  exhorted,  the  bailiff  lifted  up  his  voice  and  read,  pom- 


TUB     SHERIFF.  269 

pously  but  distinctly,  the  following  form  ;  and  then,  bowing 
low,  handed  it  to  the  sheriff,  calling  on  two  of  the  men-at- 
arins,  whose  names  were  subscribed,  to  witness  the  service : 

"  King  Henry  II.  to  the  Sheriff  of  Lancaster  and  Westmore 
land,  greeting — Kenric,  the  son  of  Werewulf,  of  Kentmere,  in 
Westmoreland,  has  showed  to  us,  that  whereas  he  is  a  free 
man,  and  ready  to  prove  his  liberty,  Sir  Foulke  d'Oilly,  knight 
and  baron  of  Waltheofstow  and  Fenton  in  the  Forest  of  Sher 
wood,  in  Yorkshire,  claiming  him  to  be  his  nief,  unjustly  vexes 
him ;  and  therefore  we  command  you,  that  if  the  aforesaid 
Kenric  shall  make  you  secure  touching  the  proving  of  his 
liberty,  then  put  that  plea  before  our  justices,  at  the  first  as 
sizes,  when  they  shall  come  into  those  parts,  to  wit,  in  our 
good  city  of  Lancaster,  on  the  first  day  of  December  next  en 
suing,  because  proof  of  this  kind  belongeth  not  to  you  to 
take ;  and  in  the  mean  time  cause  the  said  Kenric  to  have 
peace  thereupon,  and  tell  the  aforesaid  Sir  Foulke  d'Oilly  that 
he  may  be  there,  if  he  will,  to  prosecute  thereof,  against  the 
aforesaid  Kenric.  And  have  there  this  writ. 

"  Witness  •     -I  WlLLIAM  FlTZ  ADHELM. 
(  HUGO  LE  NORMAN. 

"This  tenth  day  of  October,  in  the  year  of  Grace,  1184. 
Kendal,  county  of  Westmoreland." 

"  Well,  there  is  a  bail-bond  needed,  is  there  not,  bailiff  ?" 
"  It  is  here,  sir.     William  Fitz  Adhelm,  knight,  and  Aradas 
de  Ratcliffe,  esquire,  both  of  the  county  of  Westmoreland,  are 
herein  bound,  jointly  and  severally,  in  the  sum  of  two  thou 
sand  marks,  that  Kenric,  as  aforesaid,  shall  appear  at  the  Lan- 


270  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

caster  assizes  next  ensuing,  and  show  cause  why  he  is  a  free 
man,  and  not  a  villeyn,  as  claimed,  of  Sir  Foulke  d'Oilly,  as 
aforesaid.  This  is  according  to  the  law  of  England,  and  Ken- 
ric  may  go  his  way  until  the  time  of  the  assize,  none  hinder 
ing  him  in  his  lawful  business." 

"  Therefore,"  said'  Sir  Yvo  de  Taillebois,  "  I  will  pray  Sir 
Foulke  d'Oilly  to  command  his  vassals,  that  they  release  the 
man  Kenric  forthwith,  nor  force  me  to  rescue  him  by  the 
strong  hand." 

D'Oilly,  who,  during  all  these  proceedings,  to  which,  how 
ever  unwilling,  he  was  compelled  to  listen  without  resistance, 
had  sat  on  the  settle  in  the  chimney  corner,  in  a  lounging  at 
titude,  gazing  into  the  ashes  of  the  wood  fire,  and  affecting  to 
hear  nothing  that  was  passing,  rose  to  his  feet  sullenly,  shook 
himself,  till  every  link  of  his  mail  clashed  and  rang,  and 
uttered,  in  a  tone  more  like  the  short  roar  of  a  disappointed 
lion  than  the  voice  of  a  man,  the  one  word,  "  Lachez  /"  Then 
turning  to  Sir  Yvo,  he  said — 

"  And  now,  sir,  I  suppose  that  I,  too,  like  this  Saxon  cur, 
about  whom  there  has  been  so  much  pother,  may  go  about 
my  lawful  business,  none  hindering  me." 

"  So  much  so,  Sir  Foulke,  that  if  you  will  do  me  the  favor 
to  order  your  horses,  I  will  mount  on  the  instant,  and  escort 
you  to  the  boundary  of  the  shire.  You,  Kenric,  tarry  here 
with  my  harbinger,  and  get  yourself  into  more  fitting  guise 
to  return  to  the  castle.  Now,  master  bailiff,  in  quality  of 
host,  can  you  not  find  a  flask  of  something  choicer  than  your 
ale  and  metheglin  ?  Ha !  wine  of  Anjou  !  This  will  wash 
the  cobwebs  of  the  law  out  of  my  gullet,  rarely.  I  was  nigh 
choked  with  them,  by  St.  Agatha  !  Sir  Foulke,  I  hear  your 


THE     SHERIFF.  271 

horses  stamping  at  the  door.  Will  it  please  you,  mount  ?  It 
draws  nigh  to  morning." 

"  I  will  mount,"  he  replied  fiercely,  "  when  I  am  ready ; 
and  so  give  you  short  thanks  for  scanty  courtesy." 

"  The  less  wre  say,  I  think,  about  courtesy,  Sir  Foulke 
d'Oilly,  the  better,"  said  Sir  Yvo,  sternly ;  "  for  courtesy  is  not, 
nor  ever  can  be,  between  us  two,  until  I  am  certified  how  my 
dear  friend  and  comrade  in  arms,  Sir  Philip  de  Morville,  came 
by  his  death  in  Sherwood  Forest." 

The  baron  glared  at  him  fiercely  under  the  rim  of  his  raised 
avantaille ;  then  dashed  the  vizor  down  over  his  scowling  fea 
tures,  that  none  might  read  their  fell  expression ;  clinched 
his  gauntleted  hand,  and  dashed  it  against  the  shield  which 
hung  about  his  neck,  in  impotent  fury.  But  he  spoke  no 
word  more,  till  they  parted,  without  salutation  or  defiance,  on 
a  bare  moor,  where  the  three  shires  of  York,  Lancaster,  and 
Westmoreland,  meet,  at  the  county  stone,  under  the  looming 
mountain  masses  of  Whernside. 


CHAPTER   XXIII. 


THE     TRIAL. 


Duke.  What,  is  Antonio  here  ? 

Ant.  Ready,  so  please  your  grace. 

Duke.  I  am  sorry  for  thee.    Thou  art  come  to  answer 

A  strong  adversary,  an  inhuman  wretch. 

MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 


THERE  is  nothing  in  all  the  reign  of  that  wise,  moderate, 
and  able  prince,  as  viewed  according  to  the  circumstances  of 
his  position  and  the  intelligence  of  his  era,  the  Second  Henry 
of  England,  so  remarkable,  or  in  his  character  so  praiseworthy, 
as  his  efforts  to  establish  a  perfect  system  both  of  judiciary 
power  and  of  justice  throughout  England.  In  these  efforts 
he  more  than  mediately  succeeded ;  and,  although  some  cor 
ruptions  continued  to  exist,  and  some  instances  of  malfeasance 
to  occur,  owing  in  some  degree  to  the  king's  own  avaricious 
temperament  and  willingness  to  commute  punishments,  and 
perhaps,  at  times,  even  prosecutions,  for  pecuniary  fines,  jus 
tice  was  not  for  many  centuries  more  equitably  administered, 
certainly  not  four  hundred  years  afterward,  in  the  reign  of  the 
eighth  monarch  of  the  same  Christian  name,  than  in  the  latter 
portion  of  the  twelfth  century. 

At  this  period,  that  justly  celebrated  lawyer,  Ranulf  de 
Glanville,  was  High  Justiciary  of  England,  besides  holding  the 


THE     TRIAL.  273 

especial  duty  of  administering  justice,  at  the  head  of  five 
others,  in  the  circuit  courts  of  all  the  counties  north  of  the 
Trent ;  and  he  has  left  it  on  record  "  that  there  was  not  now 
in  the  King's  Court  one  judge,  who  dared  swerve  from  the 
path  of  justice,  or  to  pronounce  an  opinion  inconsistent  with 
truth." 

During  the  six  weeks,  which  intervened  between  the  libe 
ration  of  Kenric  from  the  arrest  of  Sir  Foulke  d'Oilly,  and  the 
day  appointed  for  the  holding  of  the  Lancaster  assizes,  there 
was  great  tribulation  in  the  castle  of  Hawkshead ;  and  it  was 
known  that  Sir  Yvo  de  Taillebois  was  in  constant  correspond 
ence  with  the  High  Justiciary ;  flying  posts  were  coming  and 
going,  night  and  day,  booted  and  spurred,  through  rain  or 
shine,  from  York,  the  present  abode  of  Sir  Ranulf,  to  the 
shores  of  TVindermere. 

The  old  chaplain  was  buried  up  to  the  eyes  in  old  parch 
ments  and  genealogies  ;  and,  to  complete  the  mystery,  Claren- 
cieux,  king-at-arms,  came  down  to  the  castle,  accompanied 
by  a  pursuivant,  loaded  with  documents  from  the  college  of 
heralds,  a  fortnight  before  the  decisive  day,  and  tarried  at  the 
castle  until  the  time  came,  no  one  knowing  especially,  save 
Sir  Yvo,  his  daughter,  Aradas  de  Ratcliffe,  and  the  persons 
employed  in  the  research,  what  was  the  matter  at  issue. 

Necessary,  however,  as  it  was  deemed,  at  that  time,  to  hold 
the  proceedings  and  their  cause  in  perfect  secrecy,  no  such 
reason  exists  now;  and  it  may  be  stated  that,  the  object 
being  no  other  than  to  bring  Sir  Foulke  d'Oilly  to  justice  for 
the  murder  of  Sir  Philip  de  Morville,  it  was  necessary  to  be 
prepared  at  every  point. 

Now,  according  to  the  criminal  law  of  that  day,  no  prose- 


274  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

cutor  could  put  in  liis  charge  for  murder,  until  lie  should 
have  proved  himself  to  be  of  the  blood  of  the  deceased.  And 
this  it  was  now  the  object  of  Sir  Yvo  to  do,  there  having  al 
ways  been  a  traditionary  belief  in  a  remote  kindred  between 
the  two  families,  though  the  exact  point  and  period  were  for 
gotten. 

At  length,  in  the  middle  of  the  month  of  October,  a  proc 
lamation  was  issued,  in  the  name  of  the  King,  offering  a  free 
pardon  for  all  other  offenses,  with  the  exception  of  high  trea 
son  and  misprision  of  treason,  and  five  hundred  marks  reward 
to  any  freeman,  or  freedom  to  any  serf,  who,  not  being  a 
principal  in  the  deed,  should  appear  before  the  court  of  assize 
at  Lancaster,  on  the  first  day  of  December  next  ensuing,  and 
give  such  evidence  as  should  result  in  the  conviction  of  the 
murderer  or  murderers  of  the  late  Sir  Philip  de  Morville,  of 
Waltheofstow,  in  the  county  of  York. 

At  the  same  time,  orders  were  issued  to  Kenric,  and  all 
his  associate  foresters  and  keepers,  to  bring  in  Eadwulf,  under 
assurance  of  pardon,  if  he  might  be  found  in  any  quarter ; 
and  rewards  were  offered  to  stimulate  the  men  to  exertion. 
But  in  vain.  The  foresters  pushed  their  way  into  the  deepest 
and  wildest  recesses  of  the  Cumbrian  wilderness,  at  the  risk 
of  some  smart  conflicts  with  the  outlaws  of  that  dark  and 
desolate  region,  who  fancied  that  they  were  trespassing  on 
their  own  savage  haunts,  with  no  good  or  amicable  intent ; 
but  of  Eadwulf  they  found  no  traces. 

Kenric  persisted,  alone,  after  all  the  rest  had  resigned  the 
enterprise ;  and,  relying  on  his  Saxon  origin  and  late  servile 
condition,  mingled  with  the  outlaws,  told  his  tale,  showed  the 
proclamation,  and  succeeded  in  interesting  his  auditors  in  his 


THE     TRIAL.  2*75 

own  behalf  and  that  of  his  brother ;  but  he,  no  more  than 
the  others,  could  find  any  traces  of  the  fugitive,  and  he  began 
almost  to  consider  it  certain  that  the  unhappy  Eadwulf  had 
perished  among  the  hills,  of  the  inclemency  of  the  weather. 
He  too,  at  last,  returned  home,  despairing  of  ever  seeing  the 
unhappy  outlaw  more. 

In  the  mean  time,  an  earnest  and  interesting  contest  was 
going  on  in  the  castle,  between  Guendolen  and  Aradas  on 
the  one  hand,  and  Sir  Yvo  de  Taillebois  on  the  other.  For 
it  had  been  discovered  by  the  heralds,  that  there  did  exist 
proofs  of  blood-connection  between  the  two  families,  sufficient 
to  justify  Sir  Yvo  in  putting  in  a  charge  of  his  kinsman's 
murder  against  Sir  Foulke  d'Oilly,  on  the  grounds  of  com 
mon  rumor  and  hearsay,  if  Eadwulf  should  not  be  found ; 
and,  if  he  should,  then  on  his  testimony. 

That  D'Oilly  would  forthwith  claim  trial  by  wager  of  battle, 
none  might  doubt,  who  knew  the  character  and  antecedents 
of  that  desperately  bad  but  dauntless  man. 

Now,  it  was  the  suit  of  Guendolen  and  Aradas,  that  Sir 
Yvo  should  appoint  his  young  esquire  his  champion  to  do 
battle  for  the  judgment  of  God — for  they  were  irrevocably 
convinced — what,  between  their  real  faith  in  the  justice  of 
this  cause,  and  the  zealous  trust,  of  those  who  love,  in  the 
superiority  of  the  beloved,  and  the  generous  confidence  of 
youth  in  its  own  glowing  and  impulsive  valor — that  Aradas 
would  surely  beat  the  traitor  down,  and  win  the  spurs  of  gold, 
to  which  he  so  passionately  aspired.  But  the  clear-headed 
veteran  regarded  matters  with  a  cooler  and  perhaps  a  wiser 
eye.  He  knew  Sir  Foulke  d'Oilly  for  a  trained,  experienced, 
and  all-practiced  soldier ;  not  only  brave  at  all  times,  and 


276  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

brave  among  the  bravest — but  a  champion,  such  as  there  were 
few,  and  to  be  beaten  only  by  a  champion.  He  knew  him 
also  desperate,  and  fighting  his  last  stake.  He  foresaw  that, 
even  for  himself,  the  felon  knight,  unless  the  sense  of  guilt 
should  paralyze  his  heart,  or  the  visible  judgment  of  God  be 
interposed  in  the  heat  of  battle — a  thing  in  those  days 
scarcely  to  be  looked  for — would  prove  no  easy  bargain  in 
the  lists  ;  and,  how  highly  soever  he  might  estimate  his  young 
esquire's  courage  and  prowess,  he  yet  positively  refused  to  al 
low  him  to  assume  the  place  of  appellant  in  the  lists ;  and 
denied  utterly  that  such  a  conflict,  being  the  most  solemn 
and  awful  of  appeals  to  the  Almighty  on  his  judgment-seat, 
was  any  proper  occasion  for  the  striving  after  spurs  of  gold, 
or  aiming  at  the  honors  of  knighthood. 

So  the  lovers  were  obliged  to  decline  into  hopes  of  some 
indefinite  future  chance  ;  and  did  decline  into  despondent  and 
listless  apathy,  until,  two  days  only  before  that  appointed  for 
the  departure  of  the  company  into  Lancashire,  fortune  or 
fate,  which  you  will,  thought  fit  to  take  the  whole  matter  into 
its  own  hands,  and  to  decide  the  much-vexed  question  of  the 
championship  by  the  misstep  of  a  stumbling  palfrey. 

After  having  ridden  all  day  long  on  a  stout,  sure-footed 
cob,  which  he  had  backed  for  ten  years,  without  knowing  him 
to  make  a  solitary  blunder,  marking  trees  for  felling,  and  lay 
ing  out  new  plantations  with  his  foresters,  Sir  Yvo  was  wend 
ing  his  way  toward  the  castle  gates,  across  the  great  home- 
park,  when,  a  small  blind  ditch  crossing  his  path,  he  put  the 
pony  at  it  in  a  canter. 

Startled  by  some  deer,  which  rose  up  suddenly  out  of  the 
long  fern,  growing  thick  amonor  the  oak-trees,  the  pony 


THE     TRIAL.  277 

shyed,  set  his  forefeet  in  the  middle  of  the  drain,  and  came 
down  on  his  head,  throwing  his  heavy  rider  heavily  on  the 
hard  frozen  ground. 

A  dislocated  shoulder  was  the  consequence ;  and,  though 
it  was  speedily  reduced,  and  no  ill  consequences  followed,  the 
surgeons  declared  that  it  was  impossible  that  the  knight  should 
support  his  armor,  or  wield  a  sword,  within  two  months ;  and 
thus,  perforce,  Guendolen  had  her  way ;  and  it  was  decided 
that  Aradas  should  be  admitted  to  the  perilous  distinction  of 
maintaining  the  charge,  in  the  wager  of  battle. 

Strange  times !  when  to  be  permitted  to  engage  in  a  con 
flict,  in  which  there  was  no  alternative  but  victory,  or  infamy 
and  death,  was  esteemed  a  favor,  and  was  sought  for,  as  a 
boon,  not  by  strong  men  and  soldiers  only,  but  by  delicate 
and  gentle  girls,  in  behalf  of  their  betrothed  lovers,  as  a  mode 
of  winning  los  on  earth,  and  glory  everlasting  in  the  heavens. 

Yet  so  it  was ;  and  when  it  was  told  to  Guendolen,  that 
her  lover  was  nominated  to  that  dreadful  enterprise,  a  blush, 
indeed,  mantled  to  her  cheek,  and  a  thrill  ran  through  all  her 
quivering  frame,  and  an  unbidden  tear  trembled  in  her  beau 
tiful  clear  eye ;  but  the  blush,  and  the  thrill,  and  the  tear, 
were  of  pride  and  excitement,  not  of  fear  or  compassion  ;  and 
the  lady  never  slept  sounder  or  more  sweetly  than  on  that 
eventful  night,  when  she  learned  that,  beyond  a  peradventure, 
her  true  love  would  be  sleeping,  within  ten  little  days,  under 
a  bloody  and  dishonorable  sod,  or  living,  the  winner  of  those 
golden-spurs  and  of  her  own  peerless  beauties. 

There  was,  however,  a  strange  mixture  of  simple  and  fer 
vent  faith  in  those  days,  with  an  infinitely  larger  amount  of 
coarse  and  open  wickedness,  violence,  and  vice,  than,  perhaps, 


278  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

ever  prevailed  in  any  other  age.  And  while  the  moral  re 
straint  on  men's  conduct  and  actions,  arising  from  a  sense  of 
future  responsibility  and  retribution,  was  vastly  inferior  to 
what  now  exists,  owing  to  the  open  sale  of  indulgences,  abso 
lutions,  and  dispensations,  and  the  other  abominable  corrup 
tions  of  the  Romish  church,  the  belief  in  temporal  judgments, 
and  the  present  interference  of  divine  justice  in  the  affairs  of 
men,  was  almost  universal. 

Infidelity  in  those  days  was  a  madness  utterly  unknown ; 
and  an  atheist,  materialist,  or  any  phase  of  what  we  now  call 
a  free-thinker,  would  have  been  regarded  with  greater  wonder 
than  the  strangest  physical  monster.  It  is  not  too  much  to 
say,  that  there  were  not  in  that  day  twenty  men  in  England, 
who  did.  not  believe  in  the  real  efficacy  of  the  ordeals,  whether 
by  water,  fire,  or  battle,  in  discovering  the  truth,  or  one  in  a 
thousand  who  would  not  be  half-defeated,  before  entering  the 
lists,  by  the  belief  that  God  was  fighting  against  him,  or  strength 
ened  unto  victoiy  by  the  confidence  that  his  cause  was  just. 

One  of  these  one  men  in  a  thousand  it  was,  however,  about 
to  be  the  fortune  of  Aradas  de  Ratcliffe  to  encounter,  in  the 
person  of  Sir  Foulke  d'Oilly ;  but  this  he  neither  knew,  nor 
would  have  thought  of  twice,  had  he  known  it.  However 
hardened  the  heart  of  his  adversary  might  be  by  the  petrify 
ing  effects  of  habitual  vice,  however  dulled  his  conscience  by 
impunity  and  arrogance  and  self-relying  contumacy,  his  own 
was  so  strongly  panoplied  in  conscious  honesty,  so  bucklered 
by  confidence  in  his  own  good  cause,  so  puissant  by  faith  in 
God,  that  he  no  more  feared  what  the  might  of  that  bad  man 
could  do  against  him,  than  he  doubted  the  creed  of  Christ 
and  his  holy  apostles. 


THE     TRIAL.,  279 

Nor  less  was  the  undoubting  assurance  of  the  lady  of  his 
love,  in  whom,  to  her  faith  in  divine  justice,  to  her  absolute 
conviction  of  D'Oilly's  damning  guilt,  was  added  that  over 
weening  confidence  in  her  lover's  absolute  superiority,  not  only 
to  all  other  men  in  general,  but  to  every  other  man  individu 
ally,  which  was  common  to  love-sick  ladies  in  those  days  of 
romance  and  chivalry. 

But  we  must  not  anticipate,  nor  indeed  is  there  cause  to  do 
so ;  for  the  days  flew  ;  until,  after  leaving  Kendal  Castle,  the 
old  fortalice  of  Yvo  de  Taillebois,  who,  coming  in  with  the 
Conqueror,  had  wedded  the  sister  of  the  Earls  Morcar  and 
Edwin,  whence  they  took  their  departure  as  so  much  nearer 
to  their  destination,  and  journeying  four  pleasant  winter  days 
round  the  head  of  Morecambe  Bay,  they  entered  the  old  town 
of  Lancaster.  Sir  Yvo  de  Taillebois  was  borne  in  a  horse- 
litter,  in  consequence  of  his  accident,  at  the  head  of  a  dozen 
knights,  his  vassals,  all  armed  cap-a-pie  ;  and  a  hundred 
spears  of  men-at-arms  followed,  with  thrice  as  many  of  the 
already  famous  Kendal  archers,  escorting  a  long  train  of  lit 
ters,  conveying  the  lady  and  her  female  attendants,  and  a  yet 
longer  array  of  sumpter-mules  and  pack-horses. 

The  town  was  already  crowded  ;  but  for  a  party  so  distin 
guished  as  that  of  Sir  Yvo  de  Taillebois,  High-Sheriff  of  the 
North-western  counties,  and  chief  local  officer  of  the  crown, 
apartments  were  prepared  in  the  castle,  adjoining  those  of 
the  high  justiciary  and  the  itinerant,  or,  as  we  should  now 
call  them,  circuit  judges  ;  while  his  train  easily  found  quarters, 
some  among  the  garrison  of  which  they  formed  a  part,  as  of 
right,  and  the  rest  in  the  vicinity  of  the  castle. 

At  an  early  hour  in  the  morning,  preceded  by  trumpets  and 


280  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

javelin  men,  clad  in  all  the  magnificence  of  scarlet  and 
ermine,  emblematic  of  judicial  purity,  but  unencumbered  by 
the  hideous  perukes  of  horse-hair  which  later  ages  have  de 
vised  for  the  disfigurement  of  forensic  dignitaries,  the  high 
justiciary,  Ranulf  de  Glanville,  followed  by  his  five  associate 
judges,  proceeded  to  the  superb  oak-wainscoted  and  oak- 
groined  hall,  in  which  it  was  used  to  hold  the  sittings  of 
"  the  King's  court,"  at  that  time  the  highest  tribunal  in  the 
realm. 

This  noble  apartment,  which  was  above  a  hundred  feet  in 
length  by  half  that  width,  and  measured  sixty  feet  from  the 
floor  to  the  spring  of  the  open  arches,  independent  of  the 
octagon  lantern  in  the  center,  beneath  which  burned  nearly  a 
ton  of  charcoal,  in  a  superb  brazier  of  carved  bronze,  was 
crowded  from  the  floor  to  the  light,  flying  galleries,  with  all 
the  flower  of  the  Northern  counties,  ladies  as  well  as  knights 
and  nobles,  attracted  by  one  of  those  untraceable  but  ubiquit 
ous  rumors,  which  so  often  precede  remarkable  events,  to  the 
effect  that  something  of  more  than  ordinary  moment  was 
likely  to  occur  at  the  present  assize.  Among  this  noble  as 
semblage,  all  of  whom  rose  to  their  feet,  with  a  heavy  rustle 
of  furred  and  embroidered  robes,  and  a  suppressed  murmur  of 
applause,  as  the  judges  entered,  conspicuous  on  the  right-hand 
side  of  the  nave  was  Sir  Foulke  d'Oilly,  attended  by  two  or 
three  barons  and  bannerets  of  his  immediate  train,  and  not 
less  than  twenty  knights,  who  held  fiefs  under  him. 

What,  however,  was  the  astonishment  of  the  assembly, 
when,  after  the  guard  of  pensioners,  in  royal  livery,  armed 
with  halberts,  which  followed  the  judges,  Clarencieux,  king- 
at-arms,  in  his  magnificent  costume,  supported  by  six  pur- 


THE     TRIAL.  281 

suivants,  in  their  tabards,  with  trumpets,  made  his  appearance 
in  the  nave,  and  then  two  personages,  no  less  than  Humphry 
de  Bohun,  Lord  High  Constable,  and  William  de  Warrenne, 
Earl  Mareschal  of  England,  indicating  by  their  presence  that 
the  court,  about  to  be  held,  would  be  one  of  chivalry  as  well 
as  of  justice.  Sir  Yvo  de  Taillebois,  and  other  officers  of  the 
crown,  followed  in  the  order ;  the  justiciary  and  other  high 
dignitaries  took  their  seats,  the  trumpets  sounded  thrice,  and, 
with  the  usual  formalities,  "  the  King's  court"  was  declared 
open. 

It  was  remarked  afterward,  though  at  the  time  no  one 
noticed  it,  none  suspecting  the  cause,  that  when  the  heralds 
and  pomp,  indicating  the  presence  of  a  Court  of  Chivalry 
made  their  appearance,  the  face  of  Sir  Foulke'  d'Oilly  flushed 
fiery-red  for  a  moment,  and  then  turned  white  as  ashes,  even 
to  the  lips ;  and  that  he  trembled  so  violently,  that  he  was 
compelled  to  sit  down,  while  all  the  rest  were  standing. 

During  the  first  three  days  of  the  assize,  though  many 
causes  were  tried  of  great  local  and  individual  interest,  nothing 
occurred  to  satisfy  the  secret  and  eager  anticipations  of  the 
excited  audience,  nothing  to  account  for  the  unusual  combin 
ation  of  civil  and  military  powers  on  the  judicial  bench ;  and 
though  all  manner  of  strange  rumors  were  afloat,  there  were 
none  certainly  that  came  very  near  the  truth. 

On  the  fourth  morning,  however,  the  crier,  at  command  of 
the  court,  called  Sir  Foulke  d'Oilly  ;  who,  presently  appearing, 
stated  that  he  was  there,  in  pursuance  of  the  king's  order,  to 
prosecute  his  claim  to  the  possession  of  one  Eadwulf  the  Red, 
alias  Kenric,  a  fugitive  villeyn,  who  had  fled  from  his  manor 
of  Waltheofstow,  within  the  precincts  of  Sherwood  Forest, 


282  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

against  his,  Sir  Foulke  d'Oilly's,  will ;  and  who  was  now  in 
the  custody  of  the  sheriff  of  the  county.  lie  concluded  by 
appointing  Geoffrey  Fitz  Peter  and  William  of  Tichborne, 
two  sergeants,  learned  in  the  law,  as  his  counsel. 

The  sheriff  of  the  county  was  then  called  into  court,  to 
produce  the  body  of  the  person  at  issue,  and  Kenric  was 
placed  at  the  bar,  his  bondsmen  surrendering  him  to  take  his 
trial. 

Sir  Yvo  de  Taillebois  then  stated  the  preliminary  proceed 
ings,  the  arrest  of  Kenric  by  seizure,  his  purchasing  a  writ 
de  libertate  probando ;  and  that,  whereas  he,  the  Sheriff, 
might  not  try  that  question  in  his  court,  it  was  now  brought 
up  before  the  Eyre  of  justices  for  trial. 

Kenric  was  fnen  called  upon  to  plead,  which  he  did,  by 
claiming  to  be  a  free  man,  and  desiring  liberty  to  prove  the 
same  before  God  and  a  jury  of  his  countrymen. 

The  sheriff  was  thereupon  commanded  to  impaimel  a  jury ; 
and  this  was  speedily  accomplished,  twelve  men  being  selected 
and  sworn,  six  of  whom  were  belted  knights,  two  esquires  of 
Norman  birth,  and  four  Saxon  franklins,  as  they  were  now 
termed,  who  would  have  been  thanes  under  their  ancient 
dynasty,  all  free  and  lawful  men,  and  sufficient  to  form  a  jury. 

Then,  the  defendant  in  the  suit  being  a  poor  man,  and  of 
no  substance,  counsel,  skilled  in  the  law,  were  assigned  him 
by  the  court,  Thomas  de  Curthose,  and  Matthew  Gourlay, 
that  he  might  have  fair  show  of  justice  ;  and  so  the  trial  was 
ordered  to  proceed. 

Then  Geoffrey  Fitz  Peter  rose  and  opened  the  case  by 
stating  that  they  should  prove  the  person  at  the  bar  to  be  a 
serf,  known  as  "  Eadwulf  the  Red,"  who  has  escaped  from  the 


THE     TRIAL.  283 

manor  of  his  lord  at  Waltheofstow,  in  Sherwood  Forest, 
against  his  lord's  will,  on  the  13th  day  of  July  last  passed — 
that  he  had  killed  a  deer,  with  a  cross-bolt,  on  that  same  day, 
in  the  forest  between  Thurgolaud  and  Bolterstone — and  after 
ward  murdered  the  bailiff  of  the  manor  of  Waltheofstow,  as 
aforesaid,  with  a  similar  weapon,  at  or  near  the  same  place, 
which  weapons  would  be  produced  in  court,  and  identified  by 
comparison  with  corresponding  weapons,  and  the  arbalast  to 
which  they  belong,  found  in  the  possession  of  the  prisoner, 
when  taken  at  Kentmere  in  "Westmoreland — that  he  had  been 
hunted  hot-foot,  with  bloodhounds,  through  the  forest,  and 
across  the  moors  to  the  Lancaster  sands,  when  he  had  escaped 
only  by  the  aid  of  the  fatal  and  furious  tide  which  had  over 
whelmed  the  pursuing  horsemen — that  he  had  been  seen  to 
land  on  the  shore  of  Westmoreland,  by  a  party  of  the  pur 
suers,  who  had  escaped  the  flood-tide  by  skirting  the  coast 
line,  and  had  been  traced,  foot  by  foot,  by  report  of  the  natives 
of  the  country,  who  had  heard  of  the  Arrival  of  a  fugitive 
serf  in  the  neighborhood,  until  he  was  captured  in  a  cottage 
beside  Kentmere,  on  the  10th  day  of  October  of  this  present 
year.  And  to  prove  this,  he  called  Sir  Foulke  d'Oilly. 

He,  being  sworn,  testified  that  he  knew,  and  had  often  seen, 
his  serf  "  Eadwulf  the  Red,"  on  the  manor  of  Waltheofstow, 
and  fully  believed  the  person  at  the  bar  to  be  the  man  in 
question.  He  had  joined  the  pursuers  of  the  fugitive  on  the 
day  after  the  catastrophe  of  the  sands,  had  been  engaged  in 
tracing  him  to  the  cottage  on  Kentmere,  and  fully  believed 
the  person  captured  to  be  the  same  who  was  traced  upward 
from  the  sands.  Positively  identified  and  swore  to  the  person 
at  the  bar,  as  the  man  captured  on  the  1  Oth  day  of  October, 


284  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

and  to  the  crossbow  and  bolts  produced  in  court,  and  branded 
with  the  name  "  Kenric,"  as  taken  in  his  possession. 

Being  cross-examined — he  could  not  swear  positively  to 
any  personal  recollection  of  the  features  of  "  Eadwulf  the 
Red,"  or  that  the  person  at  the  bar  was  the  man,  or  resembled 
the  man,  in  question.  Believed  him  to  be  the  man  Eadwulf, 
because  it  was  the  general  impression  of  his  people  that  he 
was  so. 

Thomas  de  Curthose  said — "  This,  my  lords,  is  mere  hear 
say,  and  stands  for  naught."  And  Sir  Ranulf  de  Glanville 
bowed  his  head,  and  replied — "  Merely  for  naught." 

Then  Sir  Foulke  d'Oilly,  being  asked  how,  when  he  as 
sumed  this  person's  name  to  be  Eadwulf,  he  ascribed  to  him 
the  ownership  of  weapons  stamped  "  Kenric,"  he  replied,  that 
"  Kenric"  was  a  name  prepared  aforehand,  to  avert  suspicion, 
and  assumed  by  Eadwulf,  so  to  avoid  suspicion. 

Being  asked  where  he  showed  that  Eadwulf  had  assumed 
such  other  name,  or  that  the  name  "  Kenric"  had  ever  been 
assumed  by  one  truly  named  "  Eadwulf,"  he  replied,  that  "  It 
was  probable." 

Thomas  de  Curthose  said — "  That  is  mere  conjecture." 

And,  again,  the  justiciary  assented. 


CHAPTER   XXIV. 


THE     ACQUITTAL 


No  ceremony  that  to  great  ones  'longs, 
Not  the  king's  crown,  nor  the  deputed  sword, 
Tho  marshal's  truncheon,  nor  the  judge's  robe, 
Become  them  with  one  half  so  good  a  grace 
As  "justice"  does. 

MEASURE  FOE  MEARUTIE. 


THEN  was  called  Ralph  Brito. 

He,  being  sworn,  deposed  thus — Is  a  man-at-arms  of  Sir 
Foulke  d'Oilly ;  has  served  him  these  twenty  years  and  over, 
in  France,  in  Wales,  and  in  Ireland.  Has  dwelt  the  last  ten 
years,  until  this  year  now  current,  at  Sir  Foulke's  castle 
of  Fenton  in  the  Forest ;  since  the  decease  of  Sir  Philip  de 
Morville,  has  been  one  of  the  garrison  of  Waltheofstow. 
Knows  Eadwulf  the  Red  perfectly  well — as  well  as  his  own 
brother.  Has  known  him  these  ten  years  back,  when  he  was 
gross  thrall  to  Sir  Philip  de  Morville.  Has  seen  him  since 
the  death  of  Sir  Philip.  Has  seen  him  daily,  since  he  made 
one  of  the  garrison  of  Waltheofstow,  until  the  twelfth  day  of 
September  last,  when  he  saw  him  for  the  last  time,  until  he 
was  taken  in  the  cottage  on  Kentmere.  The  person  at 
the  bar  is  the  man.  The  person  at  the  bar  is  Eadwulf  the 
Red,  and  is  also  the  man  who  was  taken  at  the  cottage. 


286  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

They  are  the  same.  Did  not  follow  the  prisoner  with  the 
bloodhounds ;  came  up,  with  my  lord,  the  day  after  the 
accident  on  the  sands.  Was  engaged  in  the  pursuit  till  he 
was  taken  ;  was  present  at  the  arrest.  The  weapons  in  court 
were  taken  in  the  prisoner's  house  ;  took  them  down  himself, 
from  above  the  mantle-piece.  The  prisoner  admitted  them  to 
be  his  weapons. 

Matthew  Gourlay,  cross-examining,  asked  him — "You 
swear,  certainly,  that  the  man  at  the  bar  is  he,  known,  in  the 
time  of  Sir  Philip  de  Morville,  as  Eadwulf  the  Red  ? 

"  I  do." 

"  Of  your  own  knowledge  ?" 

"  Of  my  own  knowledge." 

"  Why  was  he  called  the  Red?" 

"  Because  he  was  red." 

"  What  part  of  him  ?" 

"  His  hair  and  beard." 

"  Of  what  color  are  your  own  hair  and  beard  i" 

"Red." 

It  so  happened  that  the  close-curled  hair  and  the  beard, 
knotted  like  the  wool  of  a  poodle  dog,  of  this  man,  were  of 
the  brightest  and  most  fiery  hue  of  which  the  human  hair  is 
susceptible;  while  that  of  Kenric  was  of  a  deep,  glossy 
auburn,  falling  in  loose  waves  from  a  broad  fair  forehead. 

"  And  what  color  is  the  person's  at  the  bar  ?" 

"  Why,  reddish,  I  suppose,"  said  Ralph  Brito,  sullenly. 

"  About  the  same  color  with  your  own,  ha  ?  Well,  you  may 
go  down,"  he  said,  satisfied  that  he  had  somewhat  damaged 
the  evidence,  even  of  this  positive  perjurer. 

Andrew  of  Spyinghow  was  then  called,  and,  being  sworn, 


THE     ACQUITTAL.  287 

testified,  that  "he  is  the  brother  of  Ralph  Wetheral,  the 
bailiff  of  Waltheofstow,  who  was  found  dead  iii  the  forest 
of  Sherwood,  on  the  13th  day  of  September  last  passed; 
and  of  Hugonet  the  Black,  seneschal  of  Waltheofetow,  as 
aforesaid,  who  was  lost  in  the  sands  of  Lancaster,  on  the 
17th  day  of  the  said  month.  He  and  his  brothers  were 
known  as  the  three  spears  of  Spyinghow.  He  knew  the 
serf,  spoken  of  as  Eadwulf  the  Red,  as  well  as  he  knew  his 
own  face  in  the  mirror.  Had  known  him  any  time  the  last 
ten  years,  as  serf,  both  to  Sir  Philp  de  Morville,  and  to  his 
own  lord,  Sir  Foulke  d'Oilly.  Had  seen  him  last  on  the 
night  of  September  the  12th,  in  the  castle  court  at  Wal 
theofstow  ;  but  had  tracked  him  thence  with  bloodhounds  to 
the  verge  of  Borland  Forest ;  had  followed  him  by  hue  and 
cry  across  the  moors  to  the  sands  of  Morecambe  Bay ;  had 
seen  the  fugitive  crossing  the  bay ;  had  seen  him  land  on  the 
Westmoreland  shore,  nor  ever  had  lost  the  track  of  him, 
until  he  saw  him  taken  in  the  cottage  at  Kentmere.  The 
prisoner  at  the  bar  is  the  man."  The  witness  then  proceeded 
at  length  to  describe  the  discovery  of  the  slain  stag,  and  the 
murdered  bailiff,  the  manner  of  their  deaths,  the  weapons 
found  in  the  mortal  wounds  both  of  the  beast  and  the  man, 
and  of  the  taking  up  of  the  scent  of  the  fugitive  from  the  spot 
where  the  double  killing  had  taken  place,  by  the  bloodhounds. 
Here  Thomas  de  Curthose  said — "This  is  a  case  we  are 
trying,  in  this  court  of  common  pleas,  of  neifty,  de  nativo 
hdbendo  ;  not  a  case  of  deer-slaying,  in  a  forest  court,  or  of 
murder,  in  a  criminal  court.  Therefore,  this  evidence,  as 
irrelevant,  and  tending  to  prejudice  the  jury  against  the 
prisoner,  should  be  ruled  out." 


288  S  H  E  R  W  O  O  D     F  O  R  E  S  T . 

Geoffrey  Fitz  Peter  said;  "This  testimony  goeth  only 
to  prove  the  weapons,  which  were  carried  and  used  by  the 
fugitive,  be  he  who  he  may,  at  that  place  and  that  time 
stated,  to  be  the  same  with  those  found  in  possession  of  the 
person  at  the  bar,  and  owned  by  him  to  be  his  property 
And  this  testimony  we  propose  to  use,  in  order  to  show  that 
the  person  at  the  bar  was  actually  at  the  place  at  the  time 
stated  as  aforesaid,  and  is  the  very  fugitive  in  question  ;  not 
that  he  is  the  killer  of  the  deer,  or  the  murderer  of  the  man, 
which  it  is  not  in  the  province  of  this  court,  or  in  our  purpose 
to  examine.1" 

Sir  Ranulf  de  Glanville  said — "To  prove  the  identity  of  the 
person  at  the  bar  with  the  alleged  fugitive,  this  evidence 
standeth  good,  but  not  otherwise." 

His  examination  being  resumed,  the  witness  described, 
vividly  and  accurately,  the  pursuit  of  the  fugitive  with  blood 
hounds;  his  superhuman  efforts  to  escape,  both  by  speed  of 
foot  and  by  power  of  swimming;  his  wonderful  endurance, 
and,  at  last,  his  vanishing,  as  it  were,  without  leaving  a  single 
trace,  either  for  sight  or  scent,  in  the  midst  of  a  bare  moor. 
Great  sympathy  and  excitement  were  manifested  throughout 
the  whole  court,  at  this  graphic  narrative ;  and  all  eyes  were 
turned,  especially  those  of  the  fair  sex,  to  the  fine  athletic  per 
son  and  noble  features  of  Kenric,  as  he  stood  at  the  bar,  alone 
of  all  that  company,  impassive  and  unmoved,  with  looks  of 
pity  and  admiration. 

But  Kenric  only  shook  his  head,  with  a  grave  smile  and  a 
quiet  wafture  of  the  hand,  as  if  putting  aside  the  undeserved 
sympathy. 

But  when  the  witness  proceeded  to  describe  the  rediscovery 


THE     ACQUITTAL.  v  289 

of  the  fugitive  crossing  the  sands,  on  the  second  morning 
after  his  temporary  evasion,  the  desperate  race  against  the 
speed  of  mortal  horses,  against  the  untamed  velocity  of  the 
foam-crested  coursers  of  the  roaring  ocean  tide ;  when  he  de 
picted  the  storm  bursting  in  the  darkness,  as  of  night,  over 
the  mailed  riders  and  barbed  horses  struggling  in  the  pools 
and  quagmires ;  the  fierce  billows  trampling  over  them,  amid 
the  tempest  and  the  gloom  ;  and  the  sun  shining  out  on  the 
face  of  the  waters,  and  lo !  there  were  none  there,  save  Hugo- 
net  the  Black,  sitting  motionless  on  his  armed  horse  like  a 
statue,  until  it  should  please  the  mounting  tide  to  overwhelm 
him,  from  which  he  could  by  no  earthly  means  escape,  and 
the  fugitive  slave  floating,  in  his  chance-found  coracle,  within 
two  oars'  length  of  that  devoted  man,  the  excitement  in  the 
vast  assembly  knew  no  bounds.  There  were  wild  cries  and 
sobs,  and  the  multitude  rocked  and  heaved  to  and  fro,  and 
several  women  swooned,  and  were  carried  out  of  the  court 
house  insensible,  and  seemingly  lifeless.  It  was  many  minutes 
before  order  could  be  restored. 

Then  the  bolts  or  quarrels,  which  had  been  extracted  from 
the  slaughtered  deer  and  the  murdered  man  were  produced  in 
court,  yet  stained  with  the  blood,  and  bearing  the  name  of 
Kenric  branded  upon  the  wooden  shafts  with  an  iron  stamp. 
The  crossbow  and  bolts,  found  in  Kenric's  cottage,  and 
admitted  by  him  to  be  his  property,  were  also  produced,  and 
the  quarrels  found  in  the  forest  tallied  from  point  to  point, 
even  to  a  broken  letter  in  the  branding,  with  those  which  he 
acknowledged  to  be  his ;  and  an  expert  armorer  being  sum 
moned,  testified  that  those  quarrels  were  proper  ones  for  that 

13 


290  SHJERWOOD     FOREST. 

very  arbalast,  and  would  not  fit  one  other  out  of  twenty, 
it  being  of  unusual  construction. 

At  this  point,  not  a  person  in  the  court,  from  the  lowest 
spectator  to  the  high  justiciary  on  the  bench,  but  believed  the 
case  to  be  entirely  made  out ;  and  some  of  the  crown  lawyers 
whispered  among  themselves,  wondering  why  the  prisoner 
had  not  been  arraigned  in  the  forest  or  criminal  courts, 
for  the  higher  offenses,  which  seemed  to  be  proved  against 
him. 

Thomas  de  Curthose,  cross-examining  the  witness,  asked — 

"  The  man  at  the  bar  is  Eadwulf  the  Red  P 

"  He  is." 

"  On  your  oath,  and  of  your  own  knowledge  ?" 

"  On  my  oath,  and  of  my  own  knowledge." 

"  Did  you  ever  hear  that  *  Eadwulf  the  Red'  should  call 
himself,  or  be  called  by  others,  '  Kenric.'" 

"  Never,  until  now." 

"  And  how  have  you  heard  it  now  ?" 

"  I  have  seen  it  stamped  on  his  quarrels." 

"  Had  « Eadwulf  the  Red'  a  brother  ?" 

"A  brother?" 

"  Had  '  Eadwulf  the  Red'  a  brother  T 

"  I  have  heard  say  he  had." 

u  Of  your  own  knowledge,  on  your  oath  2" 

"  He  had  a  brother." 

"  What  was  his  name  ?" 

"  I — I  have  forgotten." 

"  On  your  oath  I  on  your  oath,  sirrah  1"  thundered  Thomas 
de  Curthose.  '» Was  not  his  name  4  Kenric?' " 

"  I  think  it  was  <  Kenric.'  " 


THE    ACQUITTAL.  291 

"  Look  at  the  person  at  the  bar."  The  man  did  so ;  but 
reluctantly,  and  with  an  evident  tremor. 

"  Is  not  that  man  '  Kenric,'  the  brother  of  *  Eadwulf  the 
Red?'" 

"  That  man  is  'Eadwulf  the  Red ' — I  have  sworn  it." 

"  And  art  forsworn,  in  swearing  it.  But  again,  thou  hast 
sworn,  '  that  on  the  third  morning,  after  taking  scent  of  the 
fugitive  from  the  place  of  the,  deer  and  manslaying,  and  after 
hunting  him  constantly  with  bloodhounds,  you  lost  all  track 
of  him  on  the  bare  moor  in  Borland  Forest  ?' " 

"  Why,  ay  !  I  have  sworn  that ;  it  is  quite  true,"  said  the 
man,  seemingly  reassured,  at  the  change  of  the  line  of  exam 
ination. 

"  I  doubt  it  not.  Now,  when  did  the  hounds  take  the  scent 
again  ?" 

"  Why,  not  at  all.  We  saw  he  was  making  for  the  sands, 
and  so  squandered  ourselves  in  parties,  and  on  the  second 
morning,  at  daybreak,  saw  him  crossing  them." 

"  How  far  off  was  he,  when  you  saw  him  ?" 

"  About  three  miles." 

"  Could  you  see,  to  know  him,  at  that  distance  ?" 

"  Why,  no  ;  but  we  guessed  it  was  he,  when  we  saw  him 
run  from  us ;  and,  when  we  wound  up  the  clew  to  the  end, 
and  caught  him,  we  found  that  we  were  right." 

"  You  may  stand  down.     Who  is  next !" 

Four  other  witnesses  followed,  who  all  swore  positively  to 
the  person  of  the  prisoner,  as  "  Eadwulf  the  Red,"  and  testi 
fied  to  various  points  in  the  circumstances  of  the  pursuit  and 
capture,  all  tending  to  the  identification  of  Kenric  with  the 
fugitive ;  and  though  the  counsel  for  the  defense  had  sue- 


292  SHE  It  WOOD     FOREST. 

ceeded,  more  or  less,  in  shaking  the  credit  of  some  of  the  wit 
nesses  with  the  jury,  and  of  raising  a  douht  concerning  the 
existence  of  a  brother,  with  whom  the  fugitive  might  have 
been  confounded,  no  head  had  yet  been  made  against  the 
direct  testimony  of  six  witnesses,  swearing  positively  to  his 
person,  and  against  the  damaging  circumstantial  evidence  of 
the  crossbow  and  quarrels. 

When  the  counsel  for  the  plaintiff  rested,  and  the  court 
adjourned  at  ten  o'clock,  for  dinner,  not  a  lawyer  in  the  court, 
except  those  retained  in  the  defense,  but  looked  on  the  case 
of  Kenric  as  hopeless ;  and  the  party  of  Sir  Foulke  d'Oilly 
were  consequently  in  high  glee.  But  when  the  court  re 
assembled,  at  noon,  Walter  Gourlay  arose,  and  addressed  the 
six  judges — 

"  May  it  please  your  lordships,  we  shall  right  shortly  prove 
to  your  satisfaction  and  to  that  of  this  honorable  jury  that 
this  case  lies  in  a  nutshell,  or  rather  is  no  case  at  all,  or  shadow 
of  a  case.  First,  we  shall  show  to  you  that  this  person  at  the 
bar  is  not,  nor  ever  was  called,  *  Eadwulf  the  Red,'  though 
there  may  be  some  slight  similarity  of  person  between  him 
and  his  brother,  of  that  name  ;  but  that  he  is,  and  has  been 
called  from  his  cradle  to  this  day,  *  Kenric  the  Dark.'  Sec 
ondly,  we  shall  show  you  that  this  '  Kenric  the  Dark'  was  not 
in  Sherwood  Forest,  or  within  fifty  miles  of  it,  on  the 
13th  day  of  September  last  passed,  or  on  any  day  within  two 
months  thereof.  Thirdly,  we  shall  show  you  that  this  *  Kenric 
the  Dark'  is  not  serf  or  villeyn  to  Sir  Foulke  d'Oilly,  or  to  any 
Sir  in  England  ;  but  a  free  man,  and  free  tenant  of  the  Lord 
of  Kendal,  in  the  county  of  Westmoreland." 

Then  William  of  Tichborne,  said—"  Nay !  Brother  Gour- 


THE     ACQUITTAL.  293 

lay,  do  not  prove  too  much  against  us,"  and  he  laughed  sneer- 
ingly  ;  "  else  thou  wilt  convict  our  witnesses  as  mansworn." 

And  Thomas  de  Curthose  laughed,  and  said — "  Marry  will 
we,  and  pillory  them  for  it,  likewise." 

Then  the  defense  called  Bertha,  the  wife  of  Werewulf ;  and 
an  exceedingly  old  woman  was  supported  into  court,  by  a 
younger  woman  of  exceeding  beauty ;  and,  in  consideration 
of  her  age  and  infirmities,  she  was  accommodated  with  a  seat. 
She  was  very  feeble,  and  much  emaciated,  and  her  hair  was 
as  white  as  snow  ;  but  her  figure,  though  frail  and  quivering, 
was  erect  as  a  weather-beaten  pine,  and  her  eye  as  clear  as  an 
eagle's. 

"  Well,  mother,  and  who  art  thou  ?"  asked  the  justiciary, 
in  a  kindly  tone,  "and  what  hast  thou  to  tell  us  in  this 
matter  ?" 

"  I  am  Bertha,"  she  replied,  in  tones  singularly  clear  and 
distinct,  "  the  wife  of  Werewulf,  the  son  of  Beowulf,  who  was 
henchman  to  Waltheof,  who  was  the  Lord  of  Waltheofstow, 
before  the  Normans  came  to  England." 

"  A  serf  to  testify  in  proof  of  a  serf's  liberty  !"  said  William 
of  Tichborne.  "  Such  evidence  may  not  stand." 

"  She  is  no  serf,  my  lord,"  said  Gourlay,  "  but  as  free  as  my 
brother  of  Tichborne.  Let  the  Sheriff  of  Lancaster  be  sworn." 

So,  Sir  Yvo  de  Taillebois  being  sworn  in  his  place,  testified : 
"  Bertha,  the  wife  of  Werewulf,  is  a  free  woman.  I  bought 
her  myself,  with  her  own  free  consent,  of  my  friend  Sir 
Philip  de  Morville,  and  manumitted  her,  for  reasons  of  mine 
own." 

"  Let  Bertha  proceed." 

"  I  am  the  mother  of  seven  sons,  in  lawful  wedlock  born  ; 


294  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

five  of  whom,  and  three  grandsons,  sleep  with  their  fathers, 
in  the  kirkyard  of  Waltheofstow  ;  two,  as  I  believe,  yet  draw 
the  breath  of  life,  biding  God's  good  time;  'Kenric  the 
Dark,'  my  second  born,  and  '  Eadwulf  the  Red,'  my  youngest. 
Kenric  stands  yonder,  at  the  bar  ;  Eadwulf  is  a  wanderer  on 
the  moorland." 

Being  cross-examined ;  "  Would  she  know  her  sons  any 
where  ;  would  she  know  them  apart  ?" 

"  Know  my  own  sons  1"  she  made  answer ;  "  the  flesh  of 
my  own  flesh,  the  bone  of  my  own  bone  !  By  day  or  by 
night,  in  darkness  or  in  light,  by  the  lowest  sound  of  the  voice, 
by  the  least  pressure  of  the  hand,  by  the  feeling  of  their  hair, 
or  the  smell  of  their  breath,  would  I  know  them,  and  know 
them  apart,  any  where.  Yon  is  Kenric,  and  Kenric  is  no 
more  like  to  Eadwulf,  than  day  is  to  darkness,  or  a  bright 
summer  sunshine  to  a  thunder-cloud  in  autumn." 

"  Call  Aradas  de  Ratcliffe." 

He,  being  sworn,  was  asked  ; 

"  Know  you  the  person  at  the  bar  ;  and,  if  ay,  what  is  his 
name  ?" 

"  I  know  him  well ;  his  name  is  Kenric ;  his  condition,  so 
far  as  I  know,  a  freeman,  and  verdurer  to  Sir  Yvo  de  Taille- 
bois." 

"  When  did  you  see  him  first,  to  know  him  2" 

"  In  July  last,  when  my  Lord  of  Taillebois  returned  from 
Yorkshire,  and  brought  him  along  in  his  train." 

"  Have  you  seen  him  in  the  mean  time  ;  and,  if  ay,  how 
often «" 

"  Almost  daily.  He  is  one  of  our  best  foresters,  and  we 
rarely  hunt  or  hawk  without  him." 


THE     ACQUITTAL.  295 

"  Can  you  name  any  one  day,  in  particular,  when  you  saw 
the  person  at  the  bar,  between  July  and  October,  to  know 
him  F 

"I  can.  On  the  12th  day  of  last  September,  at  eight 
o'clock  in  the  evening,  we  being  then  at  supper,  Kenric  came 
into  the  hall,  by  permission,  to  bring  tidings  that  he  had 
tracked  the  great  mouse-colored  hart-royal,  which  has  been 
known  in  the  dales  this  hundred  years,  into  a  deep  dingle  at 
the  head  of  Yewdale,  and  that  he  was  laid  up  for  the  night. 
On  the  13th,  we  were  astir  before  day,  and  Kenric  led  us  to 
the  lair  ;  and  we  hunted  that  hart  all  day  long  on  the  13th, 
and  killed  him  at  sunset  on  the  skirts  of  Skiddaw.  We  had 
to  pass  the  night  on  the  mountain,  and  I  well  remember  how 
Kenrio  was  the  best  man  in  collecting  firing  and  making  all 
things  comfortable  for  the  night,  it  being  cold,  and  a  keen 
white  frost." 

Be:ng  cross-examined — "I  know  it  was  on  the  12th  that 
he  brought  the  tidings,  because  my  rents  fall  due  on  that  day 
at  Eydal  Manor,  and  I  had  ridden  over  to  collect  them,  and 
returned  home  somewhat  late  for  supper,  and  had  just  sat 
down  to  table,  very  hungry,  when  he  came  in  with  the  news 
of  the  great  hart-royal ;  and  that  spoiled  my  supper,  for  the 
thought  of  killing  that  hart  on  the  morrow  took  away  all  my 
appetite." 

"  And  did  you  Mil  him,  sir  ?"  asked  Sir  Ranulf  de  Glan- 
ville  from  the  bench,  eagerly ;  for  if  he  were  famous  as  a 
lawyer,  he  was  little  less  so  as  a  woodman. 

"  With  a  clothyard-shaft  from  my  own  bow,  Sir  Ranulf,  at 
twenty  score  yards  and  thirteen." 

"  "Well,  sir,  it  was  a  very  pretty  shot,"  returned  the  high 


296  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

justiciary,  nothing  abashed  by  the  smile  which  ran  through 
the  court ;  "  and  you  have  given  very  pretty  evidence.  Have 
you  any  more  witnesses,  Master  Gourlay  ?  Methinks  the  jury 
have  had  almost  enough  of  this." 

"  We  will  detain  your  lordships  but  a  very  little  longer 
William  Fitz  Adhelm." 

And  he  knew  Kenric  well,  and  remembered  his  services 
particularly  on  that  13th  day  of  September;  and,  to  prove 
the  date,  he  produced  a  record  of  the  chase,  carved  on  ivory, 
which  was  hung  from  the  antlers  of  that  celebrated  deer,  in 
the  great  hall  at  Hawkshead  Castle,  recording  the  length  of 
the  hunt,  the  dogs  and  horses  engaged,  and  all  the  circum 
stances  of  the  great  event. 

The  bailiff  of  Kendal  was  then  called,  who  swore  that  he 
knew  Kenric,  as  forester  and  verdurer,  since  July  last,  and 
that  he  had  seen  him  since  that  date  almost  daily ;  for  that 
three  days  had  never  passed  without  his  bringing  him  game 
for  his  guest-table,  according  to  the  orders  of  his  lord. 

"  And  here,"  said  Thomas  de  Curthose,  "  we  might  safely 
rest,  stating  merely,  in  explanation,  that  the  true  '  Eadwulf 
the  Red,'  brother  of  the  person  at  the  bar,  did,  we  believe,  all 
the  things  stated  by  the  witnesses  to  this  court,  and  did  leave, 
at  the  cottage  on  Kentmere,  the  crossbow  produced  before  the 
court,  which  he  had  previously  purloined  from  his  brother, 
while  at  Waltheofstow.  But  desiring  to  place  this  man's 
freedom  on  record  beyond  a  question  or  a  peradventure,  we 
will  call  Sir  Yvo  de  Taillebois." 

He,  of  course,  testified  to  all  that  is  known  to  the  readers 
of  this  history,  and  which  was  not  known  to  the  jury  or  the 
court ;  to  his  own  agency,  namely,  in  the  purchase  and  manu- 


THE     ACQUITTAL.  297 

mission  of  the  serf  Kenric,  and  to  his  establishment  of  him  as 
a  free  tenant  on  his  lands  of  Kentmere,  in  Kenclal. 

"  And  here  we  rest,"  said  Thomas  of  Curthose,  "  nor  shall 
trouble  the  court  so  much  as  to  sum  up  what  is  so  palpable." 

The  complainants  declining  to  say  any  thing  farther,  Ran- 
ulf  de  Glanville  said — 

"  It  is  scarce  necessary  that  I  should  say  any  thing  to  this 
jury,  seeing  that  if  the  evidence  of  Sir  Yvo  de  Taillebois  be 
received  as  credible,  the  case  is  at  an  end.  But  I  would  say 
that,  without  his  testimony,  the  defense  might  have  rested 
safely,  when  they  had  shown  that  the  alleged  fugitive,  *  Ken 
ric,'  was  a  resident  here  in  Westmoreland,  on  the  day,  and 
long  before  the  day,  when  he  is  charged  on  oath  to  have  been 
a  serf  in  Yorkshire.  For  if  A  claim  a  horse,  now  in  the  pos 
session  of  B,  swearing,  and  bring  in  witnesses  to  swear,  that 
he,  A,  lost,  or  had  stolen  from  him,  the  said  horse,  on  such  a 
day ;  and  B  biing  sufficient  and  true  witnesses  to  satisfy  the 
jury  that  the  said  horse,  so  claimed  was  in  his,  B's,  possession, 
days,  weeks,  or  months  before  the  *  such  a  day'  on  which  A 
avers  to  have  lost  or  had  the  said  horse  stolen  from  him — 
then  it  is  to  be  presumed,  not  that  A  and  his  witnesses  are 
mistaken  as  to  the  day,  on  which  the  horse  was  lost,  seeing 
that  he  and  they  have  sworn  positively  to  the  day,  and  that 
it  is  in  him  and  them,  alone,  and  on  no  others,  truly  to  know 
the  day  on  which  the  said  horse  was  lost  or  stolen — but  that 
the  horse  is  another  horse  altogether,  and  not  that  horse  lost 
or  stolen  on  the  day  averred ;  inasmuch  as  this  horse  claimed 
was,  on  that  day,  and  theretofore  and  thereafter,  standing 
here,  and  could  not  therefore  be  lost  or  stolen  elsewhere. 
This  is  the  law,  gentleman,  of  an  ox,  or  an  ass,  or  a  goat,  or 

13* 


298  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

a  piece  of  furniture,  or  of  any  thing  that  is  property,  dead  or 
living.  Much  more  so,  therefore,  of  the  liberty  of  a  man. 
For  God  forbid  that  on  this  earth  of  England  the  liberty  of 
a  man,  which  is  even  the  dearest  thing  he  hath  on  earth, 
should  be  more  lightly  jeoparded,  or  less  securely  guaranteed 
to  him,  than  the  value  of  his  ox,  or  his  ass,  or  his  goat,  or 
his  chattel,  whatsoever  it  may  be,  that  is  claimed  of  him. 
And  now,  gentlemen  of  the  jury,  I  will  detain  you  no  longer. 
You  may  retire,  if  you  wish  to  deliberate  on  your  verdict, 
whether  the  person  at  the  bar  be  '  Eadwulf  the  Red,'  gros 
thrall  of  Sir  Foulke  d'Oilly,  or  *  Kenric  the  Dark/  and  a  true 
freeman." 

"  So  please  the  court,  we  are  agreed,"  was  the  unanimous 
answer  of  the  jurymen. 

"  And  how  will  you  render  your  verdict  ?" 
"  By  our  foreman,  Sir  Ralph  Egerton,  of  Egerton." 
"  We  find,"  said  the  foreman,  in  answer  to  the  eye  of  the 
justiciary,  "  that  the  person  at  the  bar,  '  Kenric,  surnamed 
the  Dark,'  is  a  free  man,  and  that  Sir  Foulke  d'Oilly  hath  no 
claim  against  his  liberty  or  person.     And  we  farther  recom 
mend   that   the   witnesses   for  the  plaintiff,   more  especially 
Ralph  Brito,  and  Andrew  of  Spyinghow,  be  taken  into  cus 
tody,  and  held  to  answer  to  a  charge  of  perjury." 

"  You  have  said  well,  gentlemen,  and  I  thank  you  for  your 
verdict,"  said  the  justiciary.  "  Clerk  of  the  court,  record  the 
verdict ;  and  see  that  warrants  issue  against  Ralph  de  Brito 
and  Hugh  of  Spyinghow.  Kenric,  thou  art  free ;  free  of  all 
charge  against  thee ;  free  to  walk  boldly  and  uprightly  before 
God ;  and,  so  far  as  you  do  no  wrong,  to  turn  aside  for  fear 
of  no  man.  Go,  and  thank  God,  therefore,  that  you  are  born 


THE     ACQUITTAL.  299 

on  English  soil,  where  every  man  is  held  free,  till  he  is  proved 
a  slave  ;  and  where  no  man  can  be  delivered  into'  bondage, 
save  on  the  verdict  of  a  jury  of  his  countrymen.  This  is  the 
law  of  England.  God  save  the  King.  Amen  I" 

Then,  turning  to  Sir  Yvo  de  Taillebois,  "  You  brought  that 
fellow  off  with  flying  colors !  Now,  you  will  sup  with  me,  at 
my  lodgings,  at  nine.  My  brothers  of  the  bench  will  be  with 
us,  and  my  lord  high  constable,  and  the  earl  mareschal ; 
and  we  will  have  a  merry  time  of  it.  They  have  choice  oys 
ters  here,  and  some  lampreys  ;  and  that  boar's  head,  and  the 
venison,  you  sent  us,  are  superb.  You  will  come,  of  course." 

"  With  pleasure,"  said  De  Taillebois,  "  but" — and  he  whis 
pered  something  in  his  ear. 

"  Ha  !  do  you  fear  so  ?  I  think  not ;  but  we  will  provide 
for  all  chances ;  and,  in  good  time,  here  comes  Clarencieux. 
Ho !  Clarencieux,  sup  with  us,  at  nine  to-night ;  and,  look 
you,  we  shall  want  Sir  Foulke  d'Oilly  in  court  to-morrow.  I 
do  not  think  that  he  will  give  us  the  slip  ;  but,  lest  he  try  it, 
let  tv;o  of  your  pursuivants  and  a  dozen  halberdiers  keep 
their  eye  on  him  till  the  court  sits  in  the  morning ;  and  if  he 
offer  to  escape,  arrest  him  without  scruple,  and  have  him  to  the 
constable's  lodging.  Meantime,  forget  not  nine  of  the  clock, 
in  my  lodgings." 


CHAPTER  XXV. 


THE     FALSE     CHARGE     AND     THE     TRUE. 


As  for  the  rest  appealed, 
It  issues  from  the  rancor  of  a  villain, 
A  recreant  and  most  degenerate  traitor  ; 
Which,  in  myself,  I  boldly  will  defend; 
And  interchangeably  hurl  down  my  gago 
Upon  this  overweening  traitor's  foot, 
To  prove  myself  a  loyal  gentleman, 
Even  in  the  best  blood  chambered  in  his  bosom. 

KING  RICHARD  II. 


So  soon  as  the  court  was  opened  on  the  following  morning, 
to  the  astonishment  of  all  parties,  and  to  that  of  no  one,  as  it 
would  seem,  more  than  of  the  grand  justiciary  himself,  Ken- 
ric  was  again  introduced ;  but  this  time  heavily  ironed,  and 
in  the  charge  of  two  ordinary  constables  of  the  hundred. 

"  Ha !  what  is  this  ?"  asked  Ranulf  de  Glanville,  sharply. 
"  For  what  is  this  man  brought  here  again  in  this  guise  ? 
Judgment  was  rendered  in  his  case,  last  night ;  and  I  would 
have  all  men  to  know,  that  from  this  court  there  is  no  appeal. 
Or  is  there  some  new  charge  against  him  ?" 

"  In  some  sort,  a  new  charge,  my  lord,"  replied  the  clerk 
of  the  court ;  he  was  arrested  last  night,  the  moment  he  had 
left  this  court,  on  the  complaint  of  Ralph  Brito,  next  of  kin 
to  the  deceased,  for  the  murder  of  Ralph  Wetheral,  the  sen- 


THE     FALSE     AND     TRUE     CHARGE.  301 

eschal  of  Waltheofstow,  at  the  time  and  in  the  place,  which 
your  lordship  wots  of,  having  heard  all  about  it,  in  the  case 
decided  yesterday  de  nativo  habendo  /" 

"  Now,  by  my  halidom !"  said  Glanville,  the  fire  flashing 
to  his  dark  eyes,  "  this  is  wonderful  insolence  and  outrecui- 
dance  on  the  part  of  Master  Ralph  Brito,  who  is  himself,  or 
should  be,  under  arrest  for  perjury — " 

"  So,  please  you,  he  hath  entered  bail  for  his  appearance, 
and  is  discharged  of  custody." 

"  Who  is  his  bondsman,  and  in  what  bail  is  he  held  ?" 

"  So  please  you,  in  a  hundred  marks  of  silver.  Sir  Foulke 
d'Oilly  is  his  bondsman." 

"  The  bail  is  well  enough ;  the  bondsman  is  not  sufficient. 
Let  the  proper  officer  attach  the  body  of  Ralph  Brito. 
Upon  my  life !  he  has  the  impudence  to  brave  us  here,  in 
court." 

"Who?  I  not  sufficient,"  cried  Sir  Foulke  d'Oilly,  fiercely, 
rising  to  his  feet,  as  if  to  defy  the  court.  "  I  not  sufficient 
for  a  paltry  bail  of  a  hundred  marks  of  silver  ?  I  would  have 
you  to  know,  Sir  Ranulf — " 

"  And  I  would  have  you  to  know,  sir,"  thundered  the  high 
justiciary,  "  that  this  is  '  the  King's  court,'  in  the  precincts 
of  which  you  have  dared  to  make  your  voice  be  heard  ;  and 
that  I,  humble  as  I  am,  stand  here  in  loco  regis,  and  will  be 
treated  with  the  reverence  due  to  my  master.  For  the  rest, 
I  will  speak  with  you  anon,  when  I  shall  have  dealt  with  this 
case  now  before  me,  which  seems  one  of  shameful  persecution 
and  oppression. 

Sir  Foulke  d'Oilly  had  remained  on  his  feet  during  the  time 
the  justiciary  was  speaking;  and  now,  turning  his  eye  to  his 


302  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

barons  and  the  knights  of  his  train,  who  took  the  cue,  and 
rose  silently,  he  began  to  move  toward  the  door. 

"  Ha  !  is  it  so  ?  Close  up,  .halberdiers ;  guard  the  doors ! 
PursuivantSj  do  your  duty.  Sheriff  of  Lancaster,  have  you  a 
guard  at  hand  to  protect  the  court  ?" 

«  Surely,  my  lord,"  replied  Sir  Yvo  de  TaiUebois.  "  With- 
ut,  there !  pass  the  word  to  the  proper  officer,  that  he  turn 
out  the  guard." 

In  a  moment,  the  call  of  the  bugles  of  the  archery  was 
heard,  and  was  shortly  succeeded  by  the  heavy,  ordered  march 
of  infantry,  closing  up  to  the  doors,  while  the  cavalry-trumpets 
rang  through  the  narrow  streets  of  the  old  city,  and  the  clash 
of  mail-coats  and  the  tramp  of  chargers  told  that  the  men-at- 
arms  were  falling  in,  in  great  numbers. 

Meanwhile,  two  of  the  pursuivants,  in  waiting  on  Claren- 
cieux,  had  made  their  way  to  Sir  Foulke  d'Oilly,  and  whis 
pered  something  in  his  ear,  which,  whatever  it  was,  made  him 
turn  as  pale  as  death,  and  sink  down  into  his  seat,  without 
saying  a  word,  while  the  pursuivants  remained  standing  at  his 
back.  The  nobles  and  knights  of  his  train  looked  at  him,  and 
looked  at  one  another,  with  troubled  glances ;  but,  finding  no 
solution  to  their  doubts  or  answer  to  their  question,  seated 
themselves  in  sullen  discontent. 

The  multitude  which  filled  the  court-house,  meantime,  was 
in  the  wildest  state  of  confusion  and  consternation ;  the  call 
for  the  military  force  had  struck  terror  into  all,  especially  the 
feebler  part  of  the  crowd,  the  aged  persons  and  women,  many 
of  whom  were  present ;  for  none  knew,  in  those  stormy  times, 
how  soon  swords  might  be  drawn  in  the  court  itself,  or  th« 


THE     FALSE     AND     TRUE     CHARGE.  303 

hall  cleared  by  a  volley  of  cloth-yard  arrows  from  the  sheriff's 
Kendal  archers. 

After  a  while,  however,  by  the  exertions  of  the  proper 
officers,  order  was  restored ;  and  then,  as  if  nothing  had  oc 
curred  to  interrupt  the  thread  of  his  thoughts,  De  Glanville 
continued  in  the  matter  of  Kenric,  who  still  waited  in  custody 
of  the  sheriff's  officers. 

"  Be  there  any  other  charges  against  this  man,  Kenric,  be 
side  this  one  of  murder  ?" 

"One  of  deer-killing,  my  lord,  against  the  statute,  in  the 
forest  court,  at  the  same  time,  and  in  the  same  place,  as  stated 
yesterday." 

"  And  on  the  same  evidence,  doubtless,  on  which  the  jury 
pronounced  yesterday.  In  fact,  there  can  be  no  other.  In 
the  last  charge,  who  is  the  prosecutor  ?" 

"  Sir  Foulke  d'Oilly,  my  lord." 

«  Ah  !  Sir  Foulke  d'Oilly  !  Sir  Foulke  d'Oilly  !"  cried  Sir 
Ranulf,  looking  lightnings  at  him,  and  then  turning  to  the 
clerk.  "  Well,  sir.  This  matter  is  not  as  yet  in  the  province 
of  this  court.  Let  it  go  to  the  grand  jury  now  in  session, 
and  see  that  they  have  copies  of  the  warrants,  and  full  minutes 
of  ah1  the  evidence  rendered  in  the  case  de  nativo,  and  of  the 
jury's  finding,  that  they  may  have  the  power  to  judge  if  these 
charges  be  not  purely  malicious." 

A  solemn  pause  followed,  full  of  grave  expectation,  while 
the  officers  were  removing  Kenric  from  the  hall,  and  while 
the  high-justiciary,  his  assessors  on  the  bench,  the  high- 
constable,  the  earl  mareschal,  and  the  sheriff  of  the  county 
were  engaged  in  close  consultation. 

At  the  end  of  this  conference,  the  high-sheriff  formally 


304  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

appointed  Sir  Hugo  le  Norman  to  be  his  deputy,  with  full 
powers,  by  the  consent  of  the  court,  invested  him  with  his 
chain  and  staff  of  office,  and,  shortly  afterward,  appeared  in 
his  private  capacity,  in  the  body  of  the  hall ;  and  it  was  now 
observed,  which  had  not  been  noticed  while  he  wore  his  robes 
of  his  office,  that  he  carried  his  right  arm  in  a  sling,  and 
halted  considerably  in  his  gait,  as  if  from  a  recent  injury. 

"Stand  forward,  now,  Sir  Foulke  d'Oilly,"  exclaimed  the 
justiciary.  "  Crier,  call  Sir  Foulke  d'Oilly  into  court." 

Then,  as  the  knight  made  his  appearance  at  the  bar,  fol 
lowed  by  the  two  pursuivants — 

"  Now,  Sir  Foulke  d'Oilly,"  he  proceeded,  "  what  have  you 
to  say,  why  you  stand  not  committed  to  answer  for  the  mur 
der  of  Sir  Philip  de  Morville,  and  his  esquire,  Jehan  de  Mor- 
ville,  basely  and  treacherously  by  you  and  others  unknown, 
on  them,  done  and  committed,  in  the  forest  of  Sherwood,  by 
the  river  of  Idle,  in  the  shire  of  Nottingham,  on  the  sixth  day 
of  August  last  passed,  as  charged  on  good  and  sufficient  evi 
dence  against  you  ?" 

"  By  whom  is  the  charge  put  in  ?"  inquired  the  felon 
knight,  who,  now  that  he  was  certain  of  the  worst,  had  mus 
tered  all  his  ruffian  courage  to  his  aid,  and  was  ready  to  bear 
down  all  opposition  by  sheer  brute  force  and  determination. 

"  By  Sir  Yvo  de  Taillebois,  Lord  of  High  Yewdale,  Hawks- 
head,  Coniston,  and  Kendal,  and  High-Sheriff  of  this  shire  of 
Lancaster." 

"  The  Knight  of  Taillebois,"  retorted  the  other,  "  can  put  in 
no  such  charge,  seeing  that  he  is  not  of  the  blood  of  the  man 
alleged  to  be  murdered." 

"Ha  !  ]xnv  say  you  to  that,  Sir  Yvo  de  Taillebois  ?" 


THE     FALSE     AND     TRUE     CHARGE.  305 

"  I  say,  my  lord,"  replied  De  Taillebois,  "  that  in  this,  as  in 
all  else,  Sir  Foulke  d'Oilly  lies  in  his  teeth  and  in  his  throat ; 
and  that  I  am  of  the  blood  of  Sir  Philip  de  Morville,  by  him 
most  foully  and  most  treacherously  murdered.  May  it  please 
you,  my  lord,  call  Clarencieux,  king-at-arms." 

"  ITo !  Clarencieux,  what  knowest  thou  of  this  kindred  of 
these  houses  ?" 

"  We  find,  my  lord,"  replied  Clarencieux,  "  that  in  the  reign 
of  Duke  Robert,  father  of  King  William  the  Conqueror,  Raoul, 
Count  of  Evreux,  in  the  Calvados,  gave  his  daughter  Sybilla 
in  wedlock  to  Amelot,  Lord  of  Taillebois,  in  the  Beauvoisis. 
The  son  of  this  Raoul  of  Evreux  was  Stephen,  invested  with 
the  fief  of  Morville,  in  Morbihan,  who  fought  at  Hastings,  and 
for  good  service  rendered  there  and  elsewhere,  received  the 
fief  of  Waltheofstow  in  Sherwood.  The  son  of  Amelot  of 
Taillebois  and  Sybilla  was  Yvo  de  Taillebois,  the  elder,  who 
fought  likewise  at  Hastings,  and  for  good  service  performed 
there  and  elsewhere  was  enfeoffed  of  the  lordships  of  Coniston 
and  Yewdale  ;  as  his  son  became  seized,  afterward,  of  those  of 
Hawkshead  and  Kendal,  in  right  of  his  mother,  sister  and 
sole  heiress  of  the  Earls  Morear  and  Edwin,  and  wife  of  Yvo 
de  Taillebois,  first  Norman  Lord  of  Kendal.  Therefore,  this 
Stephen  de  Morville,  first  Norman  lord  of  Waltheofstow,  was 
maternal  uncle  to  Yvo  de  Taillebois,  first  Norman  lord  of 
Coniston  and  Yewdale.  Now,  Philip  de  Morville,  deceased, 
was  fourth  in  descent,  in  the  direct  male  line,  from  Stephen, 
who  fought  at  Hastings  ;  and  Yvo  de  Taillebois,  here  present, 
is  third  in  descent,  in  the  direct  male  line,  from  the  elder 
Yvo,  the  nephew  of  Stephen,  who  also  fought  at  Hastings ; 
as  is  set  down  in  this  parchment  roll,  which  no  man  can 


306  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

gainsay.  Therefore,  Sir  Yvo  de  Taillebois  is  of  the  blood  of 
Sir  Philip  de  Morville,  deceased ;  and  is  competent  to  put  in  a 
charge  of  the  murder  of  his  kinsman. 

"  On  what  evidence  does  he  charge  me  ?" 

"  On  that  of  an  eye-witness,"  exclaimed  Sir  Yvo  de  Taille 
bois.  "  Let  them  call  Eadwulf  the  Bed." 

"A  fugitive  serf,  deer-slayer,  and  murderer!"  cried  Sir 
Foulke  d'Oilly. 

"  But  under  the  king's  safe  conduct,  here  in  court,"  said  Sir 
Kanulf,  "  and  under  proclamation  of  liberty  and  free  pardon 
of  all  offenses,  if  by  his  evidence  conviction  be  procured  of  the 
doers  of  this  most  foul  murder." 

Then  Eadwulf  was  produced  in  court,  miserably  emaciated 
and  half-starved,  but  resolute  of  mien  and  demeanor,  and 
obstinate  as  ever.  He  had  been  discovered,  by  mere  chance, 
in  a  cavern  among  the  hills,  half-frozen,  and  more  than  half- 
starved,  by  the  foresters  of  High  Yewdale,  who  had  been 
instructed  to  keep  a  lookout  for  him;  and,  having  been 
with  difficulty  resuscitated,  and  made  acquainted  with  the 
tenor  of  the  king's  proclamation,  had  been  forwarded,  in 
a  litter,  by  relays  of  horses,  in  order  to  give  evidence  to  the 
murder. 

But,  as  it  proved,  his  evidence  was  not  needed ;  for,  so 
soon  as  he  saw  him  in  court,  Sir  Foulke  d'Oilly  pleaded  not 
guilty,  flung  down  his  glove,  and  declared  himself  ready  to 
defend  his  innocence  with  his  body. 

"  The  matter  is  out  of  my  jurisdiction,"  said  Sir  Ranulf  de 
Glanville.  "  My  Lord  High  Constable,  and  you,  Earl  Mares- 
chal  of  England,  it  is  before  your  Court  of  Chivalry." 

"  Sir  Yvo  de  Taillebois   is  the  appellant,"  said  the  high- 


THE     FALSE     AND     TRUE     CHARGE.  307 

constable.     "  Do  you  take  up  the  glove,  and  are  you  ready  in 
like  manner  to  defend  your  charge  with  your  body  ?" 

"I  am  ready,  with  my  ,own  body,  or  with  that  of  my 
champion;  for,  unless  the  wager  of  battle  be  deferred  these 
two  months,  I  may  not  brook  the  weight  of  my  armor, 
or  wield  a  sword,  as  my  leech  has  herein  on  oath  testified ;" 
and,  with  the  words,  he  handed  a  scroll  to  the  court. 

"Thou  hast  the  right  to  appear  by  thy  champion.  To 
defer  the  trial  were  unseemly,"  said  the  constable,  after  a 
moment's  consultation  with  the  mareschal.  "Take  up  his 
glove,  Sir  Yvo  de  Taillebois." 

De  Taillebois  took  it  up;  and  both  parties  being  called 
upon  to  produce  their  pledges,  Sir  Yvo  de  Taillebois  gave 
Lord  Dacre  and  Sir  Hugo  le  Norman,  and  Sir  Foulke  d'Oilly, 
Sir  Reginald  Maltravers  and  Sir  Humphrey  Bigod,  who 
became  their  godfathers,  as  it  is  termed,  for  the  battle. 
Whereupon,  Sir  Humphrey  de  Bohun,  the  high-constable, 
thus  spoke,  and  the  herald,  following  his  words,  made  procla 
mation — 

"  Hear  ye,  Sir  Yvo  de  Taillebois  and  Sir  Foulke  d'Oilly, 
appellant  and  appellee ;  ye  shall  present  yourselves,  you  Sir 
Yvo  de  Taillebois,  appellant,  in  your  own  person,  or  by  your 
champion,  to  be  by  this  court  approved,  and  you,  Sir  Foulke 
d'Oilly,  appellee,  in  your  person,  in  the  tilt-yard  of  this  Castle 
of  Lancaster,  at  ten  o'clock  of  the  morning  of  the  third  day 
hereafter,  to  do  battle  to  the  uttermost  on  this  quarrel.  And 
the  terms  of  battle  shall  be  these — on  foot, 'shall  ye  fight;  on 
a  spot  of  dry  and  even  ground,  sixty  paces  in  length,  and 
forty  in  breadth,  inclosed  with  barriers  seven  feet  high,  with 
no  one  within  them,  to  aid  or  abet  you,  save  God  and  your 


308  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

own  prowess.  Your  weapons  snail  be  a  long  sword  and  a 
short  sword,  and  a  dagger ;  but  your  arms  defensive  may  be  at 
your  own  will ;  and  ye  shall  fight  until  one  of  you  be 
slain,  or  shall  have  yielded,  or  until  the  stars  be  seen  in 
heaven.  And  the  conditions  of  the  battle  are  these ;  if  the 
appellee  slay  the  appellant,  or  force  him  to  cry  'craven,'  or 
make  good  his  defense  until  the  stars  be  seen  in  heaven,  then 
shall  he,  the  appellee,  be  acquitted  of  the  murder.  But  if  the 
appellant  slay  the  appellee,  or  force  him  to  cry  *  craven,'  or  if 
the  appellee  refuse  to  continue  the  fight,  then  shall  he,  the 
appellee,  be  held  convicted  of  the  murder.  And  whosoever 
of  the  two  shall  be  slain,  or  shall  cry  '  craven,'  or  shall  refuse 
to  continue  the  fight,  shall  be  stripped  of  his  armor,  where  he 
lies,  and  shall  be  dragged  by  horses  out  of  the  lists,  by  a  pas 
sage  made  in  one  of  the  angles,  and  shall  be  hanged,  in  the 
presence  of  the  mareschal;  and  his  escutcheon  shall  be  re 
versed,  and  his  name  shall  be  declared  infamous  forever.  This 
is  the  sentence  of  this  court,  therefore — that  on  the  third  day 
hence,  ye  do  meet  in  the  tilt-yard  of  this  Castle  of  Lancaster, 
at  ten  o'clock  of  the  morning,  and  there  do  battle,  in  this 
quarrel,  to  the  uttermost.  And  so  may  God  defend  the 
right !" 

Before  the  court  adjourned,  a  messenger  came  into  the  hall 
from  the  grand  jury,  and  Kenric  was  re-conducted  into  the 
presence,  still  ironed,  and  in  custody  of  the  officers. 

Sir  Ranulf  de  Glanville  opened  the  parchment  scroll,  and 
read  aloud,  as  follows — 

"  In  the  case  of  Kenric  surnamed  the  Dark,  accused  of 
deer-slaying,  against  the  forest  statute,  and  of  murder,  or 


THE     FALSE     AND     TRUE     CHARGE.  309 

homicide,  both  alleged  to  have  been  done  and  committed 
in  the  forest  of  Sherwood,  on  the  13th  day  of  September 
last  passed,  the  grand  inquest,  now  in  session,  do  find  that 
there  is  no  bill,  nor  any  cause  of  process. 

"  Done  and  delivered  in  Lancaster  Castle,  this  6th  day  of 
December,  in  the  year  of  Grace  1184. 

"WALLERAN  DE  VIPONT, 
"Foreman  of  y6  Grand  Inquest" 

"  Why,  of  course  not,"  said  Ranulf  de  Glanville.  Not  a 
shadow  of  a  cause.  Strike  off  those  irons.  He  stands  dis 
charged,  in  all  innocence  and  honor.  Go  thy  ways,  sirrah, 
and  keep  clear  of  the  law,  I  counsel  you,  in  future ;  and,  for 
this  time,  thank  God  and  the  laws  of  your  country,  that  you 
are  a  freeman,  in  a  whole  skin,  this  evening." 

"  I  do  thank  God,  and  you,  Sir  Ranulf,  that  you  have 
given  me  a  fair  trial  and  free  justice." 

"God  forbid,  else,  man!  God  forbid,  else!"  said  the  jus 
ticiary  ;  "  and  now,  this  court  stands  adjourned  until  to-mor 
row,  in  the  morning,  at  six  of  the  clock.  Heralds,  make 
proclamation ;  God  save  the  King  !" 


CHAPTER   XXVI. 


WAGER        OF        BATTLE. 


"  Then  rode  they  together  full  right, 
"With  sharpe  speares  and  swordes  bright; 

They  smote  together  sore. 
They  spent  speares  and  brake  shields; 
They  pounsed  as  fowl  in  the  fields; 
Either  foamed  as  doth  a  boar." 

SIR  TRIAMOUB. 


THE  fatal  third  day  had  come  about,  and  with  it  all  the 
ireadful  preparations  for  the  judicial  combat. 

With  what  had  passed  in  the  long  interval  between,  to  those 
whose  more  than  lives,  whose  very  hearts  and  souls,  whose 
ancient  names  and  sacred  honors,  were  staked  on  the  event,  it 
is  not  for  us  to  know  or  inquire.  Whether  the  young  cham 
pion,  for  it  was  generally  known  that  Sir  Aradas  de  Ratclifle, 
invested  with  the  golden-spurs  and  consecrated  with  the  order 
of  knighthood,  by  the  sword  of  the  earl  mareschal,  in  order 
to  enable  him  to  meet  the  appellee  on  equal  terms,  was  ap 
pointed,  with  the  full  consent  of  the  Court  of  Chivalry,  cham 
pion  for  the  appellant — whether,  I  say,  the  young  champion 
ever  doubted,  and  wished  he  had  waited  some  fairer  opportun 
ity,  when  he  might  win  the  golden-spurs  without  the  fearful 
risk  of  dying  a  shameful  death,  and  tarnishing  forever  an  un- 


THE     WAGER     BY     BATTLE.  311 

blemished  name,  I  know  not.  If  he  did,  it  was  a  human 
hesitation,  and  one  which  had  not  dishonored  the  bravest  man 
who  ever  died  in  battle. 

Whether  the  young  and  gentle  maiden,  the  lovely  Guen- 
dolen,  the  most  delicate  and  tender  of  women,  who  scarce 
might  walk  the  earth,  lest  she  should  dash  her  foot  against  a 
stone ;  or  breathe  the  free  air  of  heaven,  lest  it  should  blow  on 
her  damask  cheek  too  rudely — whether  she  never  repented 
that  she  had  told  him,  "  for  this  I  myself  will  gird  the  sword 
upon  your  thigh,"  when  she  thought  of  the  bloody  strife  in 
which  two  must  engage,  but  whence  one  only  could  come 
forth  alive ;  when  she  thought  of  the  mangled  corpse ;  of 
the  black  gibbet;  of  the  reversed  escutcheon;  of  the  dis 
honored  name ;  whether  she  never  wept,  and  trembled,  and 
almost  despaired,  I  know  not.  If  she  did  not,  she  was  more 
or  less  than  woman.  But  her  face  was  pale  as  ivory,  and  her 
eyes  wore  a  faint  rose-colored  margin,  as  if  she  had  either 
wept,  or  been  sleepless,  for  above  one  night,  when  she  appeared 
from  her  lodging  on  that  awful  morning ;  though  her  features 
were  as  firm  and  rigid  as  if  they  had  been  carved  out  of  that 
Parian  marble  which  their  complexion  most  resembled,  and 
her  gait  and  bearing  were  as  steady  and  as  proud  as  if  she 
were  going  to  a  coronation,  rather  than  to  the  awful  trial 
that  should  seal  her  every  hope  on  earth,  of  happiness  or 
misery. 

They  little  know  the  spirit  of  the  age  of  chivalry,  who 
imagine  that,  because  in  the  tilt,  the  tournament,  the  joust, 
the  carrousel,  all  was  pomp  and  splendor,  music  and  minstrelsy, 
and  military  glory,  largesse  of  heralds  and  love  of  ladies,  los 
on  earth  and  fame  immortal  after  death,  there  was  any  such 


312  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

illusion  or  enchantment  in  the  dreadful  spectacle  of  an  appeal 
to  the  judgment  of  God  by  wager  of  battle. 

In  it  there  were  no  gayly  decorated  lists,  flaunting  with 
tapestries  and  glittering  with  emblazoned  shields ;  no  gorgeous 
galleries  crowded  with  ladies,  a  galaxy  of  beauty  in  its  proud 
est  adornment ;  no  banners,  no  heralds  in  their  armorial  tab 
ards,  no  spirit-thrilling  shouts,  no  soul-inspiring  music,  only  a 
solitary  trumpet  for  the  signals ;  but,  instead  of  this,  a  bare 
space  strewed  with  sawdust,  and  surrounded  with  naked  piles, 
rudely-fashioned  with  the  saw  and  hatchet ;  an  entrance  at 
either  end,  guarded  by  men-at-arms,  and  at  one  angle,  just 
without  the  barrier,  a  huge  black-gibbet,  a  block,  with  the 
broad  ax,  the  dissecting-knife,  and  all  the  hideous  para 
phernalia  of  the  headsman's  trade,  and  himself  a  dark  and 
sordid  figure,  masked  and  clad  in  buff  of  bull's  hide,  speckled 
and  splashed  with  the  gory  stains  of  many  a  previous  slaughter, 
leaning  against  the  gallows.  The  seats  for  the  spectators — 
for,  like  all  other  tragedies  of  awful  and  engrossing  interest,  a 
judicial  combat  never  lacked  spectators — were  strewed,  in  lieu 
of  silken-hangings  and  sendal-cushions,  with  plain  black  serge ; 
and  the  spectators  themselves,  in  lieu  of  the  gay,  holiday  vest 
ments  in  which  they  were  wont  to  attend  the  gay  and  gentle 
passages  of  arms,  wore  only  their  every-day  attire,  except 
where  some  friend  or  favorer  of  the  appellant  or  appellee, 
affected  to  wear  white,  in  token  of  trust  in  his  innocence, 
with  a  belt  or  kerchief  of  the  colors  worn  by  the  favored 
party. 

Amid  all  this  gloom  and  horror,  the  only  relieving  point 
was  the  superb  surcoats  and  armor  of  the  constable  and 
mareschal,  and  the  resplendent  tabard  of  the  king-at-arms, 


THE     WAGER     BY     BATTLE.  313 

who  sat  on  their  caparisoned  horses  without  the  lists,  backed 
by  a  powerful  body  of  men-at-arms  and  archers,  as  judges 
of  the  field,  and  doorasters  of  the  vanquished  in  that  strife 
which  must  end  in  death  and  infamy  to  one  or  the  other  of 
the  combatants. 

From  an  early  hour,  long  before  the  first  gray  dawn  of  day, 
all  the  seats,  save  those  preserved  for  certain  distinguished 
personages,  had  been  occupied  by  a  well-dressed  crowd ;  all 
the  avenues  to  the  place  were  filled,  choked,  to  overflowing ; 
the  roofs,  the  balconies,  the  windows  of  every  house  that  com 
manded  a  view  of  the  lists,  the  steeples  of  the  neighboring 
churches,  the  battlements  and  the  bartizans  of  the  gray  old 
castle,  already  gray  and  old  in  the  second  century  of  Norman 
dominion,  were  crowded  with  eager  and  excited  multitudes — 
so  great  was  the  interest  created  by  the  tidings  of  that  awful 
combat,  and  the  repute  for  prowess  of  the  knights  who  were 
pitted  in  it  to  meet  and  part  no  more,  until  one  should  go 
down  forever. 

And  now  the  shadow  was  cast  upon  the  dial,  close  to  the 
fated  hour  of  ten,  from  the  clear  winter  sun,  to  borrow  the 
words  of  the  greatest  modern  poet — 


"  Which  rose  upon  that  heavy  day, 
And  mocked  it  with  its  steadiest  ray." 


The  castle  gates  rolled  open  on  their  hinges,  grating  harsh 
thunder ;  and  forth  came  a  proud  procession,  the  high-jus 
ticiary  and  his  five  associate  judges,  with  their  guard  of  hal 
berdiers,  and  the  various  high  officers  of  the  court,  among 
these  the  sheriff,  whose  anxious  and  interested  looks,  and,  yet 

14 


314  SUE  It  WOOD     FOREST. 

more,  whose  pale  and  lovely  daughter,  hanging  on  his  arm, 
so  firm  and  yet  so  wan  and  woe-begone,  excited  general 
sympathy. 

And  when  it  was  whispered  through  the  multitude,  as  it 
was  almost  instantaneously — for  such  things  travel  as  by  in 
stinct — that  she  was  the  betrothed  of  the  young  appellant, 
and  that,  to  win  her  with  his  spurs  of  gold,  he  had  assumed 
this  terrible  emprize,  all  other  excitement  was  swallowed  up 
in  the  interest  created  by  the  cold  and  almost  stern  expression 
of  her  lovely  features,  and  her  brave  demeanor. 

And  more  ladies  than  one  whispered  in  the  ears  of  those 
who  were  dearest  to  them ;  "  If  he  be  vanquished,  she  will 
not  survive  him !" 

And  many  a  manly  voice,  shaken  in  a  little  of  its  firmness, 
made  reply ; 

"  He  may  be  slain,  but  he  can  not  be  vanquished." 

Scarcely  had  the  members  of  the  Court  been  seated,  with 
those  of  the  higher  gentry  and  nobility,  who  had  waited  to 
follow  in  their  suit,  when  from  the  tower  of  a  neighboring 
Cistercian  house,  the  clock  struck  ten ;  and,  now,  as  in  that 
doleful  death-scene  in  Parisina ; 


"  The  convent-bells  are  ringing, 
But  mournfully  and  slow : 
In  tlie  gray  square  turret  swinging, 
"With  a  deep  sound,  to  and  fro, 
Heavily  to  the  heart  they  go. 
Hark !  the  hymn  is  singing — 
The  song  for  the  dead  below, 
Or  the  living  who  shortly  shall  be  so ; 
For  a  departing  being's  soul 
The  death-hymn  peals,  and  the  hollow  bells  knoll." 


THE     WAGER     BY     BATTLE.  315 

While  those  bells  were  yet  tolling,  and  before  the  echoes 
of  the  last  stroke  of  ten  had  died  away,  two  barefooted  friars 
entered  the  lists,  one  at  either  end,  each  carrying  a  Bible  and 
a  crucifix;  and  at  the  same  moment  the  two  champions 
were  seen  advancing,  each  to  his  own  end  of  the  lists,  accom 
panied  by  his  sureties  or  god-fathers,  all  armed  in  complete 
suits  of  chain-mail ;  Sir  Aradas  as  appellant,  entering  at  the 
east,  Sir  Foulke  at  the  left,  end  of  the  inclosure. 

Here  they  were  met  each  by  one  of  the  friars,  the  constable 
and  mareschal  riding  close  up  to  the  barriers,  to  hear  the 
plighting  of  their  oaths. 

And  at  this  moment,  the  eyes  of  all  the  multitude  were 
riveted  on  the  forms  of  the  two  adversaries,  and  every  judg 
ment  was  on  the  stretch  to  frame  auguries  of  the  issue,  from 
the  thews,  the  sinews,  and  the  demeanor,  of  the  two  cham 
pions. 

It  was  seen  at  a  glance  that  Sir  Foulke  d'Oilly  was  by  far 
the  stronger-built  and  heavier  man.  He  was  exceedingly 
broad-shouldered,  and  the  great  volume  of  his  humeral  muscles 
gave  him  the  appearance  of  being  round-backed  ;  but  he  was 
deep-chested,  and  long-armed ;  and,  though  his  hips  were 
thick  and  heavy,  and  his  legs  slightly  bowed — perhaps  in  con 
sequence  of  his  almost  living  on  horseback — it  was  evident 
that  he  was  a  man  of  gigantic  strength,  impaired  neither  by 
excess  nor  age,  for  he  did  not  seem  to  be  more  than  in  his 
fortieth  year. 

Sir  Aradas  de  Ratcliffe,  on  the  contrary,  was  nearly  three 
inches  taller  than  his  opponent,  and  proportionately  longer  in 
the  reach  ;  but  altogether  he  was  built  more  on  the  model  of  an 
Antinous  than  a  Hercules.  If  he  were  not  very  broad  in  the 


316  6  HER  WOOD     FOREST. 

shoulders,  he  was  singularly  deep  and  round  in  the  chest,  and 
remarkable  for  the  arched  hollow  of  his  back  and  the  thinness 
of  his  flanks.  His  arms  and  legs  were  irreproachable,  and,  all 
in  all,  he  trod  the  firm  earth  with 

"  A  station  like  the  herald  Mercury, 
New-lighted  on  a  heaven-kissing  hill." 

But  it  was  from  the  features  of  the  two  men  that  most  took 
their  auspices,  and  that  the  friends  of  Aradas  drew  confident 
augury  of  his  triumph. 

The  face  of  Sir  Foulke  d'Oilly  was  flaccid  and  colorless,  with 
huge  over-lapping  brows  shading  his  small  keen  eyes  with  a 
pent-house  of  grizzly  bristles,  large  pendant  cheeks,  a  sinister 
hooked  nose,  and  a  mouth  indicative  of  lust,  cruelty,  and  iron 
firmness — altogether,  a  sordid  vulturine  type  of  man. 

The  features  of  Aradas,  on  the  contrary,  were  clean,  clear, 
fleshless,  and  finely  marked ;  a  broad,  smooth  forehead, 
straight-cut  black  eyebrows,  well-opened  hazel  eyes,  with  a 
tawny  flash  when  excited,  like  to  that  of  a  lion  or  an  eagle,  a 
nose  slightly  aquiline,  and  a  mouth  not  less  benevolent  than 
resolute.  No  one  could  look  at  him  and  his  opponent,  with 
out  thinking  instinctively  of  the  gallant  heaven-aspiring  falcon 
matched  with  the  earthly,  carrion  vulture. 

Nor  was  there  less  meaning  or  omen  in  the  tone  of  their 
voices,  as  they  swore. 

Men  paused  to  listen  breathlessly;  for  among  the  lower 
classes  on  the  field  there  were  heavy  bets  pending  on  the 
issue,  and  the  critical  judges  of  those  days  believed  that  there 
was  much  in  the  voice  of  a  man. 

As  each   entered  the  lists,  he  was  met  by  a  friar,  who 


THE     WAGER     BY     BATTLE.  317 

encountered  him  with  the  question,  "  Brother,  hast  thou  con 
fessed  thy  sins  this  morning  ?" 

To  this,  D'Oilly  muttered  a  reply,  inaudible  to  the  ques 
tioner  ;  but  Aradas  made  answer,  in  a  voice  that  rang  like  a 
silver  bell,  "  I  have  confessed  my  sins,  father,  and,  thanks  to 
the  Lord  Jesus,  have  received  absolution  and  the  most  holy 
sacrament  of  his  body." 

The  questions  were  then  put  to  both,  to  be  answered  with 
the  hand  on  the  evangelists  and  the  lip  on  the  crucifix — 

"  Do  you  hereby  swear  that  your  former  answers  and 
allegations  are  all  true ;  that  you  bear  no  weapons  but  those 
allotted  by  the  court ;  that  you  have  no  charms  about  you ; 
that  you  place  your  whole  trust  in  God,  in  the  goodness  of 
your  cause,  and  in  your  own  prowess  ?" 

To  this  solemn  query,  Sir  Foulke  replied  only  by  the  two 
words,  "  I  swear !"  and  those  so  obscurely  uttered,  that  the 
constable  called  on  him  to  repeat  them. 

But  Sir  Aradas  raised  his  head,  and  looked  about  him 
with  a  frank  and  princely  air.  "  I  hereby  swear,"  he  said, 
"  that  which  I  swore  heretofore — that  Sir  Foulke  d'Oilly  is  a 
murderer,  a  liar,  and  a  traitor — to  be  true,  and  on  his  body  I 
will  prove  it ;  that  I  have  not,  nor  will  use  any  weapons  save 
what  the  court  allot  me ;  that  I  wear  neither  charm  nor  talis 
man  ;  and  that,  save  in  my  good  cause,  my  own  right  hand, 
and  my  trust  in  God,  I  have  not  whereon  to  rest  my  hope, 
here,  or  hereafter.  So  may  He  help  me,  or  desert  me  at  my 
utmost  need,  on  whose  evangelists  I  am  now  sworn." 

Then  the  godfathers  led  the  men  up  face  to  face,  and  each 
grasping  the  other  by  the  mailed  right  hand,  they  again 
swore — 


318  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

The  appellant,  "  My  uttermost  will  I  do,  and  more  than  my 
uttermost,  if  it  may  be,  to  slay  thee  on  this  ground  whereon 
we  stand,  or  to  force  thee  to  cry  (  craven' — so  help  me  God, 
"in  his  most  holy  heaven  !" 

And  the  appellee,  "  My  uttermost  will  I  do,  and  more,  if 
may  be,  than  my  uttermost,  to  prove  my  innocence  upon  thy 
body,  on  this  ground  whereon  we  stand — so  help  me  God,  in 
the  highest !" 

The  same  difference  was  observed  in  the  voices  of  the  two 
men,  as  they  again  swore  ;  for  while  the  tones  of  Aradas  had 
the  steel-tempered  ring  of  the  gallant  game-cock's  challenge, 
the  notes  of  Sir  Foulke  were  liter  to  the  quavering  croak  of 
the  obscene  raven. 

Then  the  godfathers  retired  them,  till  they  stood  face 
to  face,  with  thirty  feet  between  them,  and  delivered  to  them 
the  arms  allotted  by  the  court.  These  were — a  dagger,  with 
a  broad,  flat  blade,  eighteen  inches  in  length,  worn  in  a  scab 
bard  on  the  right  side,  behind  the  hip ;  an  estoc,  or  short 
sword,  of  about  two  feet  six,  with  a  sharp  point,  and  grooved 
bayonet-blade,  hanging  perpendicularly  on  the  left  thigh ;  and 
a  huge  two-handed  broadsword,  four  feet  from  guard  to  point, 
with  a  hilt  of  twenty  inches,  and  a  great  leaden  pommel  to 
counterbalance  the  weight  of  the  blade  in  striking. 

Their  defensive  arms  were  nearly  similar.  Each  wore  a 
habergeon,  or  closely-fitting  shirt  of  linked  mail,  with  mail 
sleeves,  mail  hose,  poldrons,  genouillieres,  and  shoes  of  plated 
splints  of  steel ;  and  flat-topped  helmets,  with  avantailles  and 
beavers.  But  the  neck  of  Sir  Foulke  d'Oilly  was  defended  by 
the  new-fashioned  gorget  of  steel  plates,  while  Aradas  adhered 
to  the  old  mail-hood  or  tippet,  hooked  on  to  the  lower  rim  of 


THE     WAGER     BY     BATTLE.  319 

his  beaver.  And  it  was  observed  that  while  D'Oilly  wore  his 
small  heater-shaped  shield  on  his  left  arm,  De  Ratcliffe  threw 
his  over  his  shoulder,  suspended  from  the  chain  which  held  it 
about  his  neck,  so  as  to  leave  both  his  arms  free  to  wield  his 
mighty  war-sword. 

Beyond  this,  it  was  only  noted  that  in  the  casque  of  Sir 
Aradas  was  a  lady's  glove,  and  on  his  left  arm  an  azure  scarf, 
fringed  with  gold,  such  as  the  pale  girl  on  the  seneschal's  arm 
wore,  over  her  snow-white  cymar,  crossing  her  left  shoulder 
and  the  region  of  her  heart. 

And  now  the  godfathers  left  the  lists,  and  none  remained 
within  them  save  the  two  champions  facing  each  other,  like 
two  pillars  of  steel,  as  solid  and  as  motionless,  until  the  word 
should  be  given  to  set  on,  and  the  two  barefooted  friars, 
crouching  on  their  knees  in  the  angles  of  the  lists,  muttering 
their  orisons  before  the  crucifixes,  which  they  held  close 
before  their  eyes,  as  if  to  shut  out  every  untoward  sight  which 
might  mar  their  meditations. 

Then  a  single  trumpet  was  blown.  A  sharp,  stern,  warning 
blast.  And  a  herald  made  proclamation  ; 

"  Oyez !  oyez !  oyez !  This  is  champ  clos,  for  the  judgment 
of  God.  Therefore,  beware  all  men,  to  give  no  aid  or  comfort 
to  either  combatant,  by  word,  deed,  sign,  or  token,  on  pain  of 
infamy  and  mutilation." 

Then  the  constable  rose  in  his  stirrups,  and  cried  aloud — 

"  Let  them  go  1" 

And  the  trumpet  sounded. 

"Let  them  go!" 

And,  again,  the  trumpet  sounded. 

"  Lot  them  go !     Do  your  duty !" 


320  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

And  the  earl  maresehal  answered, 

"  And  may  God  defend  the  right !" 

And,  the  third  time,  the  trumpet  sounded,  short  and  direful 
as  the  blast  of  doom ;  and  at  that  deadly  summons,  with 
brandished  blades,  both  champions  started  forward ;  but  the 
first  bound  of  Sir  Aradas  carried  him  across  two  thirds  of  the 
space,  and  his  sword  fell  like  a  thunderbolt  on  the  casque  of 
his  antagonist,  and  bent  him  almost  to  his  knee.  But  that 
was  no  strife  to  be  ended  at  a  blow ;  and  they  closed,  foot  to 
foot,  dealing  at  each  other  sweeping  blows,  which  could  not 
be  parried,  and  could  scarcely  be  avoided,  but  which  were 
warded  off  by  their  armor  of  proof. 

It  was  soon  observed  that  Sir  Foulke  d'Oilly's  blows  fell 
with  far  the  weightier  dint,  and  that,  when  they  took  effect,  it 
was  all  his  lighter  adversary  could  do  to  bear  up  against 
them.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  it  was  seen  that,  by  his  won 
derful  agility,  and  the  lithe  motions  of  his  supple  and  elastic 
frame,  Sir  Aradas  avoided  more  blows  than  he  received,  and 
that  each  stroke  missed  by  his  enemy  told  almost  as  much 
against  him  as  a  wound. 

At  the  end  of  half  an  hour,  no  material  advantage  had 
been  gained ;  the  mail  of  either  champion  was  broken  in 
many  places,  and  the  blood  flowed,  of  both,  from  more 
wounds  than  one  ;  that  of  Aradas  the  more  freely. 

But  as  they  paused,  perforce,  to  snatch  a  moment's  breath, 
it  was  clear  that  Sir  Aradas  was  the  fresher  and  less  fatigued 
of  the  two  ;  while  Sir  Foulke  was  evidently  short  of  wind, 
and  hard  pressed. 

It  was  not  the  young  man's  game  to  give  his  enemy  time 
— so,  before  half  a  minute  had  passed,  he  set  on  him  again, 


THE     WAGER     BY     BATTLE.  321 

with  the  same  fiery  vigor  and  energy  as  before.  His  op 
ponent,  however,  saw  that  the  long  play  was  telling  against 
him,  and  it  appeared  that  he  was  determined  to  bring  the 
conflict  to  a  close  by  sheer  force. 

One  great  stride  he  made  forward,  measuring  his  distance 
accurately  with  his  eye,  and  making  hand  and  foot  keep  time 
exactly,  as  he  swung  his  massive  blade  in  a  full  circle  round 
his  head,  and  delivered  the  sweeping  blow,  at  its  mightiest 
impetus,  on  the  right  side  of  his  enemy's  casque. 

Like  a  thunderbolt  it  fell ;  and,  beneath  its  sway,  the 
bacinet,  cerveilliere,  and  avantaille  of  Aradas  gave  way,  shat 
tered  like  an  egg-shell.  He  stood  utterly  unhelmed,  save  that 
the  beaver  and  the  base  of  the  casque,  protecting  the  nape  of 
his  neck  and  his  lower  jaw,  held  firm,  and  supported  the 
mailed  hood  of  linked  steel  rings,  which  defended  his  neck  to 
the  shoulder.  All  else  was  bare,  and  exposed  to  the  first 
blow  of  his  now  triumphant  antagonist. 

The  fight  seemed  ended  by  that  single  blow  ;  and,  despite 
the  injunction  of  the  herald,  a  general  groan  burst  from  the 
assembly.  Guendolen  covered  her  face  with  her  hands  for  a 
second,  but  then  looked  up  again,  with  a  wild  and  frenzied  eye, 
compelled  to  gaze,  to  the  last,  on  that  terribly  fascinating  scene. 

But  then  was  it  shown  what  might  there  is  in  activity, 
what  resistless  power  in  quickness.  For,  leaping  and  bound 
ing  round  the  heavy  giant,  like  a  sword-player,  letting  him 
waste  his  every  blow  on  the  empty  air  or  in  the  impassive 
sawdust,  Aradas  plied  his  sword  like  a  thrasher's  flail,  dealing 
every  blow  at  his  neck  and  the  lacings  of  his  casque,  till 
fastening  after  fastening  broke,  and  it  was  clear  that  D'Oilly, 
too,  would  be  unhelmed  in  a  few  more  moments. 

14* 


322  S  II  E  R  W  O  O  D     F  O  R  E  S  T . 

The  excitement  of  the  people  was  ungovernable ;  they 
danced  in  their  seats,  they  shouted,  they  roared.  No  heralds, 
no  pursuivants,  no  men-at-arms,  could  control  them.  The 
soul  of  the  people  had  awakened,  and  what  could  fetter  it  ? 

Still,  wonderful  as  they  were,  the  exertions  of  Aradas,  com 
pletely  armed  in  heavy  panoply,  were  too  mighty  to  last. 
The  thing  must  be  finished.  Down  came  the  trenchant  blade 
with  a  circling  sweep,  full  on  the  jointed-plates  of  D'Oilly's 
new-fangled  gorget.  Rivet  after  rivet,  plate  after  plate,  gave 
way  with  a  rending  crash  ;  his  helmet  rolled  on  the  ground. 
He  stood  bare-headed,  bare-throated,  unarmed  to  the  shoulders. 

But  the  same  blow  which  unhelmed  D'Oilly  disarmed  Ara 
das.  His  faithless  sword  was  shivered  to  the  hilt ;  and  what 
should  he  do  now,  with  only  that  weak,  short  estoc,  that 
cumbrous  dagger,  against  the  downright  force  of  the  resistless 
double-handed  glaive  ? 

Backward  he  sprang  ten  paces.  The  glittering  estoc  was 
in  his  right,  the  short  massive  dagger  in  his  left.  He  drop 
ped  on  his  right  knee,  crouching  low,  both  arms  hanging 
loosely  by  his  sides,  but  with  his  eye  glaring  on  his  foeman, 
like  that  of  the  hunted  tiger. 

No  sooner  had  Sir  Foulke  rallied  from  the  stunning  effects 
of  the  blow,  and  seen  how  it  was  with  him,  his  enemy  dis 
armed,  and,  as  it  seemed,  at  his  power,  than  a  hideous  sardonic 
smile  glared  over  his  lurid  features,  and  he  strode  forward 
with  his  sword  aloft,  to  triumph  and  to  kill.  When  he  was 
within  six  paces  of  his  kneeling  adversary,  he  paused,  meas 
ured  his  distance — it  was  the  precise  length  for  one  stride, 
one  downright  blow,  on  that  bare  head,  which  no  earthly 
power  could  now  shield  against  it. 


THE     WAGER     BY     13ATTLE.  323 

There  was  no  cry  now  among  the  people — only  a  hush. 
Every  heart  stood  still  in  that  vast  concourse. 

"  Wilt  die,  or  cry  '  craven  ?' " 

The  eye  of  Aradas  flashed  lightning.  Lower,  he  crouched 
lower,  to  the  ground.  His  left  hand  rose  slowly,  till  the 
guard  of  his  dagger  was  between  his  own  left,  and  his  enemy's 
right  eye.  His  right  hand  was  drawn  so  far  back,  that  the 
glittering  point  of  the  estoc  only  showed  in  front  of  his  hip. 
Lower,  yet  lower,  he  crouched,  almost  in  the  attitude  of  the 
panther  couchant  for  his  spring. 

One  stride  made  Sir  Foulke  d'Oilly  forward ;  and  down, 
like  some  tremendous  engine,  came  the  sword-sweep — the 
gazers  heard  it  whistle  through  the  air  as  it  descended. 

What  followed,  no  eye  could  trace,  no  pen  could  describe. 
There  was  a  wild  cry,  like  that  of  a  savage  animal ;  a  fiery 
leap  through  a  cloud  of  whirling  dust ;  a  straight .  flash 
through  the  haze,  like  lightning. 

One  could  see  that  somehow  or  other  that  slashing  cut  was 
glanced  aside,  but  how,  the  speed  of  thought  could  not  trace. 

It  was  done  in  a  second,  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye.  And, 
as  the  dust  subsided,  there  stood  Aradas,  unmoved  and  calm 
as  the  angel  of  death,  with  his  arms  folded,  and  nothing  in 
his  hand  save  the  dagger  shivered  to  the  guard.  And  at  his 
feet  lay  his  enemy,  as  if  stricken  by  a  thunderbolt,  with  his  eyes 
wide  open  and  his  face  to  heaven,  and  the  deadly  estoc  buried, 
to  the  gripe,  in  the  throat,  that  should  lie  no  more  forever. 

Pass  we  the  victor's  triumph,  and  the  dead  traitor's  doom ; 
pass  we  the  lovers'  meeting,  and  the  empty  roar  of  popular 
applause.  That  was,  indeed,  the  judgment  of  God ;  and 
when  God  hath  spoken,  in  the  glory  of  his  speechless  work 
ings,  it  is  good  that  man  should  hold  his  peace  before  him. 


CHAPTER    XXVII. 

THE      BRIDAL      DAY. 

"The  roads  should  blossom,  the  roads  should  bloom, 

So  fair  a  bride  shall  leave  her  home ! 
Should  blossom  and  bloom  with  garlands  gay, 

So  fair  a  bride  shall  pass  to-day." 

LONGFELLOW. 

THE  dark  winter  months,  with  their  alternate  snows,  sheet 
ing  the  wide  moorlands,  and  roofing  the  mighty  mountain- 
tops  of  the  lake  country  with  inviolate  white,  and  soft  thaws 
swelling  the  streamlets  into  torrents,  inundating  the  grassy 
meadows,  and  converting  the  mountain  tarns  into  inland  seas, 
had  passed  away ;  nor  passed  away  all  gloomily,  or  without 
their  appropriate  and  peculiar  pleasures,  from  the  sojourners 
in  Hawkshead  Castle. 

All  over  Merrie  England,  but  in  no  part  of  it  more  than  in 
the  north  country,  was  Christmas  the  gladdest  and  the  blyth- 
est  time  of  all  the  circling  year ;  when  every  door  stood  open, 
from  that  of  the  baron's  castle  and  the  franklin's  hall  to  that 
of  the  poorest  cotter's  cabin  ;  when  the  yule  log  was  kindled, 
and  the  yule  candle  lighted ;  when  the  furmety  smoked  on 
every  English  board,  and  the  wassail  bowl  was  spiced  for  all 
comers ;  when  the  waits  sang  Christmas  carols  under  the 
clear  cold  moon  in  the  frosty  midnights,  and  the  morris- 
dancers  and  the  mummers  rioted  and  reveled  to  the  rude 
minstrelsy  of  the  time,  and  made  the  most  of  the  shortlived 
wintery  sunshine  ;  when  ancient  feuds  were  often  reconciled, 


THE     BRIDAL     DAY.  325 

and  ancient  friendships  riveted  by  closer  ties ;  when  families 
long  dissevered  were  re-collected  and  re-united  about  the  old 
ancestral  hearth-stones;  when  the  noble  and  the  rich  filled 
their  abundant  halls  with  sumptuous  luxury  and  loud-rejoic 
ing  merriment,  and  the  poor  were  not  forgotten  by  the  great. 
Indeed,  though  there  was  much  that  was  coarse  and  rude, 
much  that  was  hard,  cruel,  and  oppressive,  in  the  social  life 
of  England,  in  those  old  and  almost  forgotten  days,  there  was 
much  also  that  was  good  and  generous  and  genial,  much  that 
was  sound  and  hearty,  much  that  was  brave  and  hale  and 
masculine,  which  has  vanished  and  departed  from  the  world 
forever,  with  the  vaunted  progress  of  civilization  and  refine 
ment, 

In  those  old  times 

When  the  Christmas  chimes 
Were  a  merry  sound  to  hear, 

When  the  squire's  wide  hall, 

And  the  cottage  small, 
Were  full  of  good  English  cheer. 

Above  all,  there  was  this  great  redeeming  virtue,  conspicu 
ous  among  the  flagrant  wrongs  and  innate  evils  of  society 
under  the  feudal  system,  that  between  the  governors  and  the 
governed,  between  the  lord  and  his  lieges,  nay,  even  between 
the  master  and  his  serfs,  there  was  then  no  such  social  gulf 
established,  as  now  yawns,  in  these  boasted  days  of  civilizing 
progress  and  political  equality,  between  castes  and  classes, 
separated  by  little  else  than  their  worth,  estimated  by  the 
standard  of  gold — gold,  which  seems,  daily  and  hourly,  more 
and  more  to  be  over-riding  all  distinctions  of  honored  ances 
try,  high  name,  noble  deeds,  personal  deserts,  nay,  even  of  dis 
tinguished  bearing,  of  intellect,  of  education,  of  accomplish 
ment,  much  more  of  truth,  integrity  or  honor. 


326  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

During  these  wintery  months,  accordingly,  there  had  been 
all  the  free,  open-hearted  hospitality  of  the  day,  displayed 
throughout  the  wide  manors  of  Hawkshead,  Coniston,  and 
Yewdale,  and  in  the  neighboring  demesnes  of  Rydal,  and 
something  more  even  than  the  wonted  merriment  and  joviality 
of  that  sacred  yet  joyous  season. 

Many  of  the  grand  baronial  families  of  the  vicinity,  at 
tracted  as  much,  perhaps,  by  the  singular  and  romantic  inter 
est  attaching  to  the  great  events,  which  had  filled  all  the 
north  country  with  the  rumor  of  their  fame  as  with  the  blast 
of  a  martial  trumpet,  as  by  the  ties  of  caste  and  kindred,  had 
visited  the  castle  palace  of  Sir  Yvo  de  Taillebois,  almost  in 
the  guise  of  bridal  guests ;  for  the  approaching  nuptials  of  the 
fair  Guendolen  with  Aradas  the  Brave  were  openly  announced, 
although  the  ceremonial  was  deferred  until  the  balmy  days 
of  spring-time,  and  the  genial  month  of  May.  The  Cliffords 
of  Barden,  the  Howards,  from  Naworth  and  Carlisle,  the  Percy, 
from  his  already  famous  strength  of  Alnwick,  the  Scropes,  the 
Umfravilles,  the  Nevilles,  from  their  almost  royal  principality 
of  Middleham  on  the  Ure,  had  all  in  turn  tasted  the  Christ 
mas  cheer,  and  shared  the  older  sports  of  Yule,  in  the  wild 
recesses  of  Kendale ;  had  congratulated  the  young  and  noble 
victor  on  his  double  conquest,  scarce  knowing  which  was 
most  to  be  envied,  that  of  the  felon  knight  in  the  black  lists 
of  Lancaster,  or  that  of  the  soft  ladye  in  the  sweetest  valley  of 
the  lone  lake  country. 

But  now,  the  wintery  days  had  passed  away,  the  snipe  was 
heard  drumming  every  where  on  vibrated  pinions,  as  he  soared 
and  dived  in  mid-air  over  the  deep  morasses,  in  which  he  an 
nually  bred  unmolested ;  the  swallows  had  returned  from  their 


THE     BRIDAL     DAY.  327 

unknown  pilgrimage  to  the  spicy  isles  of  ocean,  or  the  central 
waters  of  untrodden  Africa,  and  might  be  seen  skimming 
with  rapid  wing,  the  blue  mirror  of  Winandermere,  and  dim 
pling  its  surface  in  pursuit  of  their  insect  prey ;  the  cuckoo 
had  been  heard  in  the  birch-woods  among  the  ghylls,  and  in 
the  huge  sycamores  around  the  village  garths;  the  heath- 
cocks  blew  their  clarion  call  of  amorous  defiance  from  every 
heath-clad  knoll  of  the  wide  moorlands ;  the  cushat  had 
donned  the  iris  hues  which  paint  his  swelling  neck  in  the 
spring  days  of  love  and  courtship ;  the  meadows  were  alive 
with  crocuses,  brown-streaked  and  purple,  white  and  golden ; 
the  snow-drops  had  raised  their  silvery  bells,  almost  before  the 
earth  was  clear  of  its  winter  covering ;  the  primroses  gemmed 
all  the  banks  with  their  pale  saffron  blossoms,  the  air  was 
redolent  with  the  delicious  perfume  of  the  violets. 

It  was  the  eve  of  May,  and  as  the  sun  was  setting  over  the 
misty  hills  that  keep  guard  over  high  Yewdale,  amid  a  long 
and  joyous  train,  dragged  slowly  by  ten  yoke  of  milk-white 
oxen,  with  nosegays  on  their  horns,  and  branches  of  the  fra 
grant  May  canopying  their  harness,  escorted  by  troops  of 
village  girls,  and  stout  hill  shepherds,  dancing  along  and 
caroling  to  the  cadence  of  the  pipe,  the  tabor,  and  the  rebeck, 
the  mighty  Maypole  was  brought  in  triumph  up  the  weary 
winding  road  to  the  green  esplanade  before  the  castle -gates 
of  Hawkshead ;  and  there,  before  midnight,  was  swung  into 
its  place,  crowned  with  garlands,  and  fluttering  with  gay 
streamers,  and  glad  with  the  leafy  garniture  of  Spring, 
"  shrouds  and  stays  holding  it  fast,"  holding  it  erect  toward 
heaven,  an  emblem  of  that  which  never  can,  whatever  fanatics 
and  bigots  may  declare,  be  unacceptable  on  High,  the  inno- 


328  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

cent  and  pure  rejoicings  of  humble  'loving  hearts,  forgetting 
toil  and  care,  and  casting  away  sorrow  for  one  happy  day,  at 
least,  the  merriest  and  the  maddest  of  the  three  hundred  and 
sixty-five,  which  sum  the  checkered  score  of  man's  annual  vicis 
situdes  of  labor  and  repose,  brief  merriment  and  lasting  sorrow. 

During  the  night  deep  silence  and  deep  slumber  fell  like  a 
shadow  over  keep  and  cottage,  and  not  a  sound  disturbed  the 
stillness  of  the  vernal  night,  unless  it  were  the  quavering  cry 
of  some  night-bird  among  the  tufted  woods,  or  the  shrill  bark 
of  the  hill  fox  from  the  mountain  side,  or  the  deep  harmoni 
ous  call  "  All's  well,"  from  the  warder  on  the  lofty  battlements. 

But  long  before  the  paly  dawn  had  begun  to  throw  its 
faint  yellow  glimmer  up  the  eastern  sky,  while  the  moon  was 
yet  riding  lustrous  in  the  cloudless  azure,  with  the  morning- 
star  flashing  like  a  diamond  by  her  side,  many  a  cottage  door 
in  the  silent  hamlet,  many  a  one  on  the  gentle  slopes  of  the 
green  hill  sides,  many  a  one  in  the  broad  pastoral  valley,  was 
unbolted,  and  revolved  on  noiseless  hinges,  to  send  forth  the 
peasant  maids,  in  shy  yet  merry  bands  to  gather,  with  many 
a  mystic  rite  and  ceremonial  borrowed,  unknown  to  them, 
from  the  mythology  of  other  lands,  when  Flora  ruled  the 
month  of  flowers,  to  gather  the  puissant  dews  of  May. 

When  the  sun  rose  fair  above  the  eastern  hills, 

""With  blessings  on  his  broad  and  burnished  face," 

his  appearance  was  welcomed  by  such  a  burst  of  joyous  and 
hilarious  music  from  the  battlements,  as  never  before  had 
waked  the  echoes  of  Scafell  and  Skiddaw.  In  that  triumph 
ant  gush  of  music  there  were  blended,  not  only  the  resounding 
clangor  of  the  Norman  kettle-drums  and  trumpets,  with  the 


THE     BRIDAL     DAY.  329 

clear  notes  of  the  mellow  bugle,  but  the  tones  of  a  thousand 
instruments,  scarce  known  on  English  soil,  having  been  intro 
duced  only  by  the  Crusaders  from  those  Oriental  climates,  in 
which  music  is  indigenous  and  native,  and  from  which  the  re 
tainers  of  Sir  Yvo  de  Taillebois  had  imported,  not  the  instru 
ments  only  but  the  skill  necessary  to  give  them  utterance  and 
expression,  and  the  very  airs  to  which,  in  the  cedar-vales,  and 
among  the  haunted  hills  of  Palestine,  they  had  of  old  been  vocal. 
The  musical  chime  of  many  bells  attuned,  the  silver  clash 
of  the  cymbals,  the  roll  of  the  Syrian  atabals,  the  soft  tones 
of  the  lute,  and  shrill  strains  of  the  Eastern  reed-pipes,  were 
blended  strangely,  but  most  sonorously  with  the  stirring  war- 
notes  of  the  west.  And  instantly,  as  if  awakened  from  sleep 
by  that  rejoicing  strain,  the  little  chapel  bells  of  Bowness  be 
gan  to  tinkle  with  small  merry  chimes,  across  the  bright  blue 
lake ;  and  answering,  yet  further  in  the  distance,  though  still 
clearly  audible,  so  apt  to  the  conveyance  of  sounds  is  the 
tranquillity  and  the  clear  vibrating  air  of  those  mountain  re 
gions,  the  full  carillon  of  the  magnificent  Abbey  of  Kendal 
the  stately  ruins  of  which  are  still  extant,  as  if  to  teach  us 
boastful  men  of  modern  days,  the  superiority  of  our  semi- 
barbarous  ancestors,  as  we  have  the  vanity  to  term  them, 
rang  out,  proclaiming  to  the  sparse  population  of  the  dales, 

"How  fair  a  bride  shall  wed  to-day." 

Around  the  Maypole  on  the  green,  already  were  assembled, 
not  the  vassals  only  of  the  great  baron,  his  free-tenants  and 
his  serfs,  rejoicing  in  one  happy  holiday,  and  in  the  prospect 
of  gorging  themselves  ere  nightfall  throat-nill  of  solid  dainties 
and  sound  ale,  but  half  the  population  of  the  adjacent  valleys, 


330  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

hill-farmers,  statesmen,  as  the  small  land-holders  are  still 
called  in  those  unsophisticated  districts,  burghers  from  the 
neighboring  towns,  wandering  monks  and  wandering  mu 
sicians,  a  merry,  motley  multitude,  all  in  their  best  attire,  all 
wearing  bright  looks  and  light  hearts,  and  expecting,  as  it 
would  seem  from  the  eager  looks  directed  constantly  toward 
the  castle  gates,  the  forthcoming  of  some  spectacle  or  pageant, 
on  which  their  interest  was  fixed. 

Two  or  three  Welsh  harpers,  who  had  been  lured  from 
their  Cambrian  wilds  by  the  far-spread  report  of  the  ap 
proaching  festivities,  and  by  the  hope  of  gaining  silver  guer 
don  from  the  bounty  of  the  splendid  Normans,  were  seated  on 
a  grassy  knoll,  not  far  from  the  tall  garlanded  mast,  which 
made  itself  conspicuous  as  the  emblem — as,  perhaps,  in  former 
ages,  it  had  been  the  idol — of  the  day,  and  from  time  to  time 
drew  from  the  horse-hair  strings  of  their  rude  harps  some  of 
those  sweet,  wild,  melancholy  airs  which  are  still  characteristic 
of  the  genius  of  the  Kymric  race,  which  still  recall  the  hours 

"  "WTien  Arthur  ruled  and  Taliessin  sung ;" 

but  neither  to  them,  nor  to  the  indigenous  strains,  more  agree 
able  perhaps  to  their  untutored  ears,  of  two  native  crowders 
of  the  dales,  who  were  dragging  out  strange  discords  from  the 
wires  of  their  rude  violins — nor  yet  to  the  more  captivating 
and  popular  arts  of  three  or  four  foreign  jongleurs,  with 
apes  and  gitterns — the  Savoyards  of  that  remote  age,  though 
coming  at  that'day  not  from  the  valleys  of  the  lower  Alps, 
but  from  the  western  shores  of  Normandy  and  Morbihan — did 
the  eager  crowd  vouchsafe  much  of  their  attention,  or  many 
of  their  pennies. 

There  was  a  higher  interest  awako,  a  more  earnest  expect- 


THE     BRIDAL    DAY.  331 

ation,  and  these  were  brought  to  their  climax,  when,  just  as 
the  castle  bell  tolled  eight,  the  wild  and  startling  blast  of  a 
single  trumpet  rose  clear  and  keen  from  the  inner  court,  and 
the  great  gates  flew  open. 

A  gay  and  gallant  sight  it  was,  which,  as  the  heavy 
drawbridge  descended,  the  huge  portcullis  slowly  rose,  creak 
ing  and  clanking,  up  its  grooves  of  stone,  and  the  iron-studded 
portals  yawned,  revealed  itself  to  the  eyes  of  the  by-standers ; 
and  loud  and  hearty  was  the  cheer  which  it  evoked  from  the 
assembled  multitude. 

The  whole  inner  court  was  thronged  with  men  and  horses, 
gayly  clad,  lightly  armed,  and  splendidly  caparisoned  ;  and,  as 
obedient  to  the  signals  of  the  officers  who  marshaled  them, 
the  vaunt-couriers  of  the  company  rode  out,  four  by  four,  ar 
rayed  in  Kendal  green,  with  the  silver  badges  and  blue 
sarsenet  scarfs  of  their  lord,  and  white  satin  favors  with  long 
silver  streamers,  waving  from  their  bonnets,  the  gleam  of  em 
broideries  and  the  fluttering  of  female  garments  might  be  dis 
covered  within  the  long-withdrawing  avenue.  Four  hundred 
strong,  the  retainers  of  the  high-sheriff",  swept  forward,  with 
bow  and  spear,  and  were  succeeded  by  a  herald  in  his  quar 
tered  tabard,  and  a  dozen  pursuivante  with  trumpets. 

Behind  these  came,  in  proud  procession,  six  tall  priests, 
nobly  mounted  on  ambling  palfreys,  each  bearing  a  gilded 
cross,  and  then  the  crozier  of  the  abbot  of  Furness  Abbaye,  fol 
lowed  by  that  proud  prelate,  with  his  distinctive,  hierarchal 
head-tire,  cope,  and  dalmatique,  and  all  the  splendid  parapher 
nalia  of  his  sacred  feudal  dignity,  supported  by  all  his  clergy 
in  their  full  canonicals,  and  a  long  train  of  monks  and  choris 
ters,  these  waving  perfumed  chalices,  those  raising  loud  and 
clear  the  hymns  appointed  for  the  ceremonial. 


332  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

A  hundred  gentlemen  of  birth  and  station,  on  foot,  bare 
headed,  clad  in  the  liveries  of  the  house  of  Taillebois,  blue 
velvet  slashed  and  lined  with  cloth  of  silver  laid  down  on 
white  satin,  came  next,  the  escort  of  the  bridal  party,  and  were 
followed  by  a  multitude  of  beautiful  girls,  dressed  in  virgin 
white,  strewing  flowers  before  the  feet  of  the  bride's  palfrey. 

But  when  she  appeared,  mounted  on  a  snow-white  Anda- 
lusian  jennet,  whose  tail  and  mane  literally  swept  the  ground 
in  waves  of  silver,  in  her  robes  of  white  sendal  and  cloth  of 
silver,  with  the  bridal  head-tire  of  long-descending  gauzy  fil 
lets  floating  around  her  like  a  wreath  of  mist  about  a  graceful 
cypress,  and  her  long  auburn  ringlets  disheveled  in  their  mazes 
of  bright  curls,  powdered  with  diamond  dust  and  garlanded 
with  virgin  roses,  the  very  battlements  shook  to  the  shouts  of 
applause,  which  made  the  banners  toss  and  rustle  as  if  a 
storm-wind  smote  them. 

Two  pages,  dressed  in  cloth  of  silver,  tended  her  bridle- 
reins  on  either  hand,  and  two  more  bore  up  the  long  embla 
zoned  foot-cloths  of  white  and  silver,  which  would  otherwise 
have  embarrassed  the  paces  of  the  beautiful  and  docile  steed 
which  bore  her,  timing  its  tread  to  the  soft  symphony  of  lutes  and 
dulcimers  which  harbingered  the  progress  ;  while  no  less  than 
six  belted  knights,  with  their  chains  of  gold  about  their  necks, 
bore  the  staves  of  the  satin  canopy,  or  baldacchino,  which  shel 
tered  her  fair  beauties  from  the  beams  of  the  bly  the  May  morning. 

Twelve  bridesmaids,  all  of  noble  birth,  mounted  like  herself 
on  snow-white  palfreys,  all  robed  and  filleted  in  white  and 
silver,  and  garlanded  with  pale  blush  roses,  nymphs  worthy 
of  the  present  goddess,  bridled  and  blushed  behind  her.  And 
there,  radiant  with  love  and  triumph,  making  his  glorious 


THE     BRIDAL     DAY.  333 

charger — a  red  roan,  with  a  mane  and  tail  white  and  redund 
ant  as  the  surges  of  the  creamy  sea — caracole,  and  bound  from 
the  dull  earth  in  sobresaults,  croupades  and  balotades,  which 
would  have  crazed  a  professor  of  equitation  with  admiration, 
apart  from  envy,  rode  Aradas  de  Ratcliffe,  with  his  twelve 
groom's-men  glittering  with  gems,  and  glorious  with  silk  upon 
silk,  silver  upon  silver. 

Sir  Yvo  de  Taillebois,  with  twenty  or  thirty  of  the  greatest 
barons  of  the  north  country,  his  cotemporaries,  and  many  of 
them  his  brothers-in-arms,  and  fellows  at  the  council-table  of 
their  puissant  Norman  monarch,  whom  they  admitted  only  to 
be  first  baron  of  the  English  barons,  primus  inter  pares, 
brought  up  the  rear  of  the  procession,  while  yet  behind  them 
filed  a  long  band  of  spears  and  pennoncelles,  and  again  after 
these  a  countless  multitude,  from  all  the  country  side,  rejoicing 
and  exulting,  to  form  a  portion  of  the  pageant  which  added 
so  much  to  the  customary  pleasures  of  the  Maying. 

Thus,  for  miles,  they  swept  onward  through  the  pleasant 
meadow-land,  tufted  and  gemmed  with  unnumbered  flowers, 
between  tall  hedges  white  with  the  many-blossomed  May,  and 
overrun  with  flaunting  clusters  of  the  delicious  wood-bine. 

Once  and  again  they  were  met  by  troops  of  country  girls 
scattering  flowers,  and  as  often  rode  beneath  triumphal  arches, 
deftly  framed  of  green  leaves  and  gay  wild-flowers  by  rustic 
hands,  in  token  of  the  heart's  gratitude,  until  they  reached  the 
shores  of  the  blue  lake,  where  Sir  Yvo's  yacht  awaited  them,  con 
voyed  by  every  barque  and  boat  that  could  be  pressed  into  the 
service  from  all  the  neighboring  meres  and  lakelets  of  the  county. 

The  wind  blew  fair  and  soft,  and  swelled  the  sails  of  cloth 
of  silver,  and  waved  the  long  azure  pennants  forward,  as 


334  SHERWOOD     FOREST. 

omens  of  happy  days  ahead ;  and  smoothly  over  the  rippling 
waters,  to  the  sound  of  the  soft  bridal  music,  galleys  and 
horse-boats,  barques  and  barges,  careered  in  fair  procession, 
while  the  great  multitude,  afoot,  rushed,  like  an  entering  tide, 
through  the  horse-roads  and  lanes  around  the  head  of  the 
lake,  eager  to  share  the  wedding-feast  and  the  wedding  dance, 
at  least,  if  not  to  witness  the  nuptial  ceremonial. 

At  Bowness  they  took  horse  again,  and  escorted  by  the 
bailiff  and  burghers  of  Kendall,  proceeded,  at  an  increased 
pace,  to  the  splendid  Abbey  Church,  dim  with  the  religious 
light  which  streamed  through  its  deeply  tinted  window-panes, 
and  was  yet  further  obscured  by  the  thick  clouds  from  the 
tossed  chalices  of  incense,  through  which  swelled,  like  an  an 
gel's  choir,  the  pure  chant  of  girls  and  children,  and  the  deep 
diapason  of  the  mighty  organ. 

The  nuptial  ceremony  was  followed  by  a  feast  fit  for  kings, 
served  up  in  the  grand  hall  of  Kendal  Castle,  wherein,  before 
the  Norman  conquest,  the  proud  Saxon  Earls,  Morcar  and 
Edwin,  maternal  ancestors  of  the  fair  bride,  had  banqueted  and 
rioted  in  state,  and  where,  as  tradition  related,  they  had  held 
revel  for  the  last  time  on  the  eve  of  their  departure  for  the 
fatal  field  of  Hastings,  fatal  to  Saxon  liberty,  but  harbinger  of 
a  prouder  era,  and  first  cause  and  creatrix  of  a  nobler  race,  to 
rule  in  Merrie  England. 

It  needs  not,  here,  to  dwell  on  the  strange  dainties,  the  now 
long-disused  and  unaccustomed  viands  and  beverages  of 
those  old  days,  more  than  on  the  romantic  feudal  usages  and 
abstruse  ceremonials  of  the  day ;  suffice  it  that,  to  their  palates, 
heronshaw,  egret  and  peacock,  venison  and  boar's-meat,  and 
chines  of  the  wild  bull,  were  no  less  dainty  than  the  choicest 


THE     BRIDAL     DAY.  335 

of  our  modern  luxuries  to  the  beaux  and  belles  of  the  nine 
teenth  century ;  and  that  hypocras  and  pigment,  morat  and 
mead  and  clary,  made  the  pulses  burn  and  the  cheeks  mantle 
as  blythely  and  as  brightly  as  Champagne  or  Burgundy.  The 
ball,  for  the  nobles  in  the  castle-hall,  for  the  commons  on  the 
castle-green,  followed  the  feast ;  but  not  till  the  stocking  had 
been  thrown,  and  the  curtain  drawn,  and  the  beautiful  bride 
fairly  bedded,  was  the  nuptial  ceremony  esteemed  fully  ended, 
which  gave  the  lovely  Guendolen,  for  weal  and  not  for  woe,  to 
the  brave  and  faithful  Aradas  de  RatclifFe. 

The  raptures  of  lovers  are  not  to  be  described ;  and  if  the 
pen  of  the  ready-writer  may  gain  inspiration  to  delineate  the 
workings  of  strong  mental  passions,  of  intense  moral  or 
physical  excitements,  to  depict  stormy  wrath,  the  agonies  of 
hope  deferred,  the  slow-consuming  pangs  of  hopeless  regret, 
there  is  one  thing  that  must  ever  defy  his  powers  of  repre 
sentation — the  calm  enjoyment  of  every-day  domestic  happi 
ness  ;  the  easy  and  unvarying  pleasures  of  contentment ;  the 
placid  routine  of  hourly  duties,  hourly  delights,  hourly  labors', 
hourly  affections ;  and  that  soft  intermixture  of  small  cares 
and  passing  sorrows,  with  great  blessings  tasted,  and  great 
gratitudes  due,  which  make  up  the  sum  of  the  most  innocent 
and  blessed  human  life.  ) 

And  such  was  the  life  of  Sir  Aradas  and  the  fair  Guendolen 
de  Ratcliffe,  until,  to  borrow  the  quaint  phrase  of  the  narra 
tor  of  those  incomparable  tales  of  the  Thousand  and  One 
Nights,  "  they  were  visited  by  the  terminator  of  delights,  and 
the  separator  of  companions.  Extolled  be  the  perfection  of 
the  Living,  who  dieth  not !" 

Sir  Yvo  de  Taillebois  lived  long  enough  to  see  his  child's 


336  S  H  E  Ii  W  O  O  D     FOREST. 

children  gathered  to  his  knee ;  to  prognosticate,  in  their 
promise,  fresh  honors  to  his  high-born  race  ;  but  not  so  long 
as  to  outlive  his  intellect,  his  powers  to  advise,  console,  enjoy, 
and,  above  all,  to  trust  in  God.  Full  of  years  and  full  of 
honors,  he  was  gathered  to  his  fathers  in  the  ripeness  of  his 
time,  and  he  sleeps  in  a  quiet  churchyard  in  his  native  valley, 
where  a  green  oa]^-tree  shades  his  ashes,  and  the  ever-vocal 
music  of  the  rippling  Kent  sings  his  sweet,  natural  requiem. 

Eadwulf  the  Red  never  recovered  from  the  starvation  and 
exposure  endured  in  his  escape  and  subsequent  wanderings ; 
and,  though  he  received  the  priceless  boon  of  liberty,  and  the 
king's  free  pardon  for  his  crimes,  though  he  passed  his  declin 
ing  days  in  the  beautiful  cottage  nigh  Kentmere,  with  his 
noble  brother,  his  fair  wife,  and  all  the  treasured  little  ones 
about  him,  who  grew  up  like  olive-branches  round  Kenric's 
happy,  honored  board,  with  every  thing  to  soothe  his  stubborn 
heart  and  soften  his  morose  and  bitter  spirit,  he  lived  and  died 
a  gloomy,  disappointed,  bitter,  and  bad-hearted  man,  a  vic 
tim  in  some  sort  of  the  vicious  and  cruel  system  which  had 
debased  his  soul  more  even  than  it  had  degraded  his  body. 

Yet  it  was  not  in  that  accursed  system,  altogether ;  for  the 
gallant  and  good  Kenric,  and  his  sweet  wife,  Edith  the  Fair, 
were  living  proofs,  even,  as  the  noble  poet  sings — 

"That  gentleness  and  love  and  trust 
Prevail  o'er  angry  wave  and  gust ;" 

and  it  was  no  less  "  the  spur,  that  the  clear  spirit  doth  raise," 
than  the  grand  force  of  that  holiest  Saxon  institution,  Trial 
by  Jury,  that  raised  Kenric  from  a  Saxon  serf  to  be  an  English 
freeman. 


o,5 


